


Glass Eyes

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artificial Insemination, Brainwashing, Captivity, Choking, Complete, Controlling Kylo Ren, Darkfic, Dystopia, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Gaslighting, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Misogyny, Kidnapping, Los Angeles, Lots of Discussion of Pregnancy, Lots of Weird Shit With Turkey Basters, Manipulation, Mind Games, Minor Poe Dameron/Kaydel Ko Connix, Misogyny, Non-Consensual Touching, POV First Person, POV Rey (Star Wars), Past Sexual Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Psychological Horror, Psychological Thriller, Punishment, Sad with a Happy Ending, Soulmates, Stepford wives, Suspense, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Vaginal Fingering, dark soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 55,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Do everything you can to keep your soulmate from finding you.





	1. Hey it's me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Стеклянные глаза](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703392) by [Tersie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tersie/pseuds/Tersie)

> this one is inspired by "glass eyes" by radiohead and "los angeles" by sugarcult!!! i was going to make ben a teenager but this gives it a big stepford wives vibe and i like that a lot more

“Lucy, can you reschedule my lunch for tomorrow?”

It’s important—sort of—but I need go home early and catch the new season of _Stranger Things. _Catch, binge with rosé; same difference. Maybe I won’t come in at all and just vegetate on the couch. Eat Pringles.

My assistant gives me a thumbs up from behind her desk as I click past in my new heels. They’re Loboutins. I never thought I’d see a pair in real life, let alone put my foot in them, but here I am.

“How about Wednesday?” she calls.

“It’s Marc Jacobs, not Fendi. We can do a Thursday.” I turn a little at the elevator and wave a finger, frowning and thinking. “You can swap Fendi with Gucci, right? I’m not in the mood to nitpick prices and that’s what a Gucci meeting _always _turns into.”

“Sure, I’ve got it.” Lucy curls her black hair behind an ear, squinting at the screen. She smiles and nods. “Have a good weekend, Miss Niima. I’ll take care of everything for next week.”

Good, good. Lucy is always dependable.

It’s a long couple weeks of meetings ahead to roll out a new body suit. I’m trying to make them fashionable and less a symbol of oppression, and spreading the name to big designers certainly helps. They like getting the socially conscious stamp on their brand.

It’s slow moving but the suits are getting out there: breathable fabric, sustainably made, lifetime guarantee. We don’t guarantee they’ll repel a soulmate but they do a pretty damn good job so far. Men don’t bother grabbing women when they see the sleeves or the leggings.

Of course I wear my own product. It’s comfortable under my dress, even in the hot weather, and doesn’t cause the same awful sweating as the prototype. I sip my latte and walk to my car, scrolling through my cell phone with matching gloves on.

It’s better than wearing heavy coats and ugly liners. It’s definitely better than accidentally finding your soulmate.

I slip into my Tesla, texting Rose about coming over to watch _Stranger Things_, but she’s too busy with her new boyfriend. I heave a sigh and start the engine and peel out into the sunny Los Angeles afternoon much faster than I should in an electric car.

It’s L.A. I can drive as fast as I want until I hit the fucking freeways.

And hit them I do, right on time for the crawl of afternoon traffic. I fiddle with my radio, scrolling through the channels while my car does most of the driving. The sun bakes overhead and Lucy texts me to say I’m all set for the rescheduled meetings, and she’s heading home for the night.

She’s a good egg. A couple months ago she met her soulmate online and they’re already expecting, just like the government wants. But her husband, Tom, is a nice enough guy, so she got lucky in that regard.

I pull up to my house around dark. It’s that stucco shit everyone uses, a big ugly thing that towers over my cobblestone driveway, but it’s got central A/C so that’s a nice bonus. There’s a in ground pool too—but I don’t use it much, just pay for it to be cleaned.

Actually, the house is usually empty. I don’t have time for pets or anything.

The lights come on when I walk inside and I immediately take off my bra, heading straight for the bedroom. I’m ready for bed, honestly. I’ll binge _Stranger Things _tomorrow. No meetings, no one needs me down at the office, so I can wake up at ten, have ice cream for breakfast, and watch poor Will and his cross-dimensional PTSD.

I flick the shade switch in my bedroom to draw them down and block out the streetlights. Darkness creeps over the bed as I peel out of my dress and stumble to the nightstand to take my Toprol before I go to sleep. It’s easy enough to swallow dry and helps keep my heart from constantly racing.

I crawl in my soft sheets and bury myself underneath, curled into a ball, eyes closed. It’s dark and cold in here, just the way I like it.

—————

My cell phone ringing wakes me up like it usually does. I’m a little pissed because I told Lucy I’m trying to take a day, but I roll over and paw for it on the nightstand anyway. I groggily mumble ‘Rey’ before she launches into a nervous chatter.

“People came here looking for you, Rey—they looked like police. Are you okay?”

I frown, rolling on my back and stretching. “Maybe it’s just another designer. Are you sure they’re cops?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Lucy swallows hard enough for me to hear and my spine prickles. “I checked your records on the municipal website and they’re still supposed to be sealed, but… that’s how I met Tom, you know. These guys showed up all dressed in black and made me come with them.”

Now I sit bolt upright, heart pounding. Shit.

I scramble out of bed and flick up the shades to see the sun is well up in the sky. It’s around eleven.

My thoughts race as I rush downstairs to the study on the first floor to check my records myself. I pay to have them sealed and protected by a third party, which is _very _expensive and _very _important. Anyone can comb through and find my serial number if they want to compare with theirs, and if they’re a match, I’m totally fucking screwed.

But it’s protected. I give that as a bonus for all my employees because it’s so hard to afford and I don’t want to see anyone dragged out of the office kicking and screaming. The company is called SureLine and I’ve never had an issue—Lucy didn’t have it yet when Tom found her through the serial code system.

I sit at my computer and hold the phone with my shoulder. “How long ago were they there?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes. I told them I didn’t know where you were. They said they just needed to talk but I’m almost a hundred percent sure they’re from the government.” Lucy’s breath catches and I realize she’s crying now, and I feel terrible. “I’m sure it must be a mistake.”

“Me too. Why don’t you go home for the day? We don’t have anything to do until next week.”

She thanks me and hangs up.

I log into my private SureLine account and scroll through to the place I always check that says LOCKED in big red letters. I never agreed to unlock it, so—

But LOCKED is gone, replaced with: FOR ASSISTANCE, PLEASE CALL OUR TOLL-FREE NUMBER.

“Shit,” I hiss. I grab my phone again and dial the number with shaky hands, licking my lips. It’s a mistake. No one can find me.

I run back upstairs to get dressed in my body suit and gloves, just in case the government _is _coming here to drag me to my soulmate. They don’t give you a choice and the man, because soulmates are always male/female pairs, decides what happens.

Sometimes you’re lucky and he’s gay or you’re gay and he doesn’t care, but it seems like the vast majority of men don’t give a shit about what you want. Only soulmates can have children and if they don’t produce within a year they’re sent to camps that aren’t fun like summer camp.

It’s okay, though. Serial codes can be wrong. It’s just the blood drawn when you’re born and stored in a big system for comparison, and I have mine sealed from that system. No one can find me in it.

The doorbell rings. I swear because SureLine hasn’t picked up and I call my lawyer instead.

“Rey,” she says. She sounds tired. “Something wrong?”

“The cops are here—I think he found me.” I walk back downstairs and peer through my kitchen curtain at the two men in black outside. “Oh my god—Amilyn I think he found me. How did he find me?!”

“They’re there?” she clarifies. Now she’s wide awake. “Stall them. I’ll be down in twenty minutes and get a stay so they can’t drag you straight out.”

Hyperventilating, I nod and hang up, and watch the men outside. They ring the doorbell again. They can come in if they want; if they have reason to suspect I’m hiding inside. Some people have vaults and escape tunnels and they run to Canada but that always seemed like overkill to me.

I take a deep breath. Okay. I just have to stall until Amilyn gets here and shoos them off. I pay a lot of money for her, too. She can make a legal nightmare for whoever’s trying to force me to leave my life and become a fucking broodmare.

They knock this time. I smooth down my body suit so they know exactly how I feel about them being here and open the door, but leave the deadbolt.

One tilts his head to look inside. “Rey Niima?”

“Who’s asking?”

“You have a court summons.” The other guy tries slipping me an envelope but I refuse to take it. “We need to escort you to county court.”

I scowl and shake my head, letting the door shut a bit more. “I’m not going anywhere until my lawyer gets here. I have rights.”

One suit rolls his eyes and taps his ear. The other shrugs and slips the envelope in his jacket pocket and I know immediately that I’m completely screwed. Amilyn won’t get here in time. They probably have bolt cutters to open the door.

I slam it shut and turn the handle lock. They shout but I’m already upstairs throwing things in a duffel bag, ears ringing from sheer terror. I’m not going with anyone. I’m supposed to have enough money to prevent this—this doesn’t happen to rich people or people who try to do the right thing.

The three days a week I go to the gym seemed bad at the time but now I’m grateful for it. I race out the back door, skirting my pool, and run around the front to get in my car. Suit one and two are two slow to catch me and I manage to start the engine with trembling hands while they bang on the door.

I peel out of my driveway onto the quiet street, tires squealing. My heart pounds as I try calling my lawyer again and try not to cry—when a black SUV swerves into my path.

“Shit!”

My Tesla whirls in a tight circle to avoid it but I still smash the back end off a palm tree. The seatbelt tightens and restrains me as the air bags deploy and I’m throw around in the car like a fucking rag doll. I drop my phone before everything comes to a screeching halt, alarms flashing and blaring at me that I’ve _obviously _just been in a fucking accident.

I groan in pain. The airbag is up in my face and it’s hard to breathe but I don’t think anything’s broken.

My door pops open and I just manage to turn my head. A man in a nice black shirt and slacks stands outside smiling and he leans over to look in the cabin, resting a hand on the top of my door. He’s pale and maybe around my age and smells nice.

He grabs my wrist and tugs off my glove. I rasp and squirm but it’s no use. It’s like being stripped naked in public; it’s violating and horrible and I want him to get his huge hands off me.

“Shh, shh.” He tugs off his own glove with his teeth, still smiling. “Everything’s going to be fine, dear.”

Skin brushes skin and a hot snap of electricity jolts through my palm. I scream until I black out.


	2. I just got off the train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a book i read recently with a premise sort of like this but no romance; i have to check goodreads
> 
> found it: behind closed doors by B.A. Paris. I stopped reading when I figured out it had no romance 😅

Like in all horror movies, my eyes snap open.

Elevator music. I’m in a small white room with white sheets and my head is _killing _me—I groan and fight the urge to vomit. It’s the fluorescents. They always make so nauseous.

I swallow and try moving, and realize I’m restrained to the gurney like a psych patient, wrists and ankles bound with straps colored white. My pulse quickens as I yank on the cuffs, throat going dry; my head spins but I can’t bear being tied down like a wild animal.

It feels off in here. The window is open, letting in a nice breeze and the sound of birds, but the setting is off. Elevator music gives me the fucking creeps.

But it looks normal, from the window to the television against the wall to the flowers in a vase. I’ve been in a few hospitals over the years and this one seems expensive and new, and maybe like it needs a splash of color, but it’s typical. It’s the white—and the soft music—and the quiet. It’s not right.

I twist my wrists and catch sight of the star-shaped burn on my palm where the stranger grabbed me. I clench my jaw and keep twisting, furious that someone would have the audacity to grope me like that in fucking public. Son of a bitch. I’ll show him what’s what. Amilyn could sue the Pope.

I’m changed out of my body suit into a gown, and my head pulses with pain, but I have full intentions of running like hell. Just have to get free.

But I don’t sit alone for long. Someone knocks and the door opens before I can say a word: and the big man with black hair casually lets himself in.

I barely recognize him from when he fucking t-boned me, but his crooked features are just familiar enough that I pinpoint it quick. He’s dressed in a blue shirt with the sleeves up to the elbows, a silver watch, and dark pants to match. Douchebag. Bet he’s on Wall Street.

He shuts the door. He takes up half the damn room. It annoys me.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake.” His voice is deep and gentle like he’s talking to a scared cat. “How are you feeling, Rey? Tired?”

“I want my lawyer!” I snap. “_Now_. I have rights—I know I have rights. Her name is Amilyn Holdo and she was on her way when you side swiped me.” I grit my teeth, glaring at his easy smile. “That’s a hundred thousand dollar car you owe me, dickhead.”

The man wanders to my bedside, unhurried. He pulls over a white chair and sits in it, leaned back with his hands in his lap and still smiling pleasantly.

He doesn’t reply for a minute. He glances out the window and toys with his watch instead.

“Beautiful day,” he says. “Should only be seventy-two—perfect day for a walk.”

I bristle. He’s ignoring me, just ignoring me like what I say doesn’t matter a bit. It makes my blood boil being ignored by a man, especially one who’s trying to drag me into forced marriage.

The restraints groan when I pull hard. “I want my lawyer. Now.”

“You should be discharged today. Just some whiplash from hitting the palm tree.” He shrugs, stroking his upper lip with his index finger, gazing past me out the window. “I suppose that’s up to the doctor.”

“Stop—cut it out! I want my lawyer!”

He lapses into silence again. It’s disorienting, head trauma aside, and I’m blubbering before I can think up what to say. He’s just ignoring me. He’s not even entertaining the thought of calling Amilyn.

The room feels smaller and the elevator music drones longer, Doppler effect, an ice cream truck rounding a corner. My heart pounds so hard it makes my ears ring, because I know he’s not going to let me call my lawyer, and no one else will.

His big upper body shifts in the chair. He’s still looking straight past me like there’s something much more interesting outside.

“Beautiful day,” he repeats. “Don’t you agree?”

I’m breathing so hard my shoulders are lifting and I’m dizzy and nauseous. I stare at him until the door opens again and a nurse comes in, beaming and pushing a rolling table with a tray. Her scrubs are beige, a couple shades off from the walls.

She parks the table at my bedside. I’m not hungry in the least. I could throw up.

“Good morning, Rey,” she says. “My name is Haley and I’ll be your nurse for the rest of your stay.” She picks up the remote attached to the bed and keeps smiling while pointing to a big red triangle. “Click right here if you need me to come in.”

I swallow a lump. “I… I need to talk to my lawyer, Amilyn Holdo. Or my assistant, Lucy Vivek? I need to talk to someone—I need my phone.”

Haley frowns and looks down at the man in the chair. He doesn’t look back at her, but his dark eyes shift to me, kind of bored, like I’m inconveniencing him. It’s _severely _pissing me off. I want to cry and puke.

Then he does smile up at her. “That’s all, I think. Thank you.”

The nurse seems satisfied with that. She leaves without acknowledging my request.

A cold sweat breaks out on my neck first, spreading up my forehead and down my arms. I watch the man lift off the top covering the tray and see some very non-hospital food: chicken with seasoning, red potatoes tossed with vegetables, and a roll.

He starts cutting up the chicken. I twist my wrists.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are.”

“No, I’m not. I want my lawyer and I want you to let me out of these fucking restraints.”

That makes him go quiet again. He’s clearly not interested in talking about my lawyer.

My cold sweat carries down my chest as he finishes cutting up the chicken. He offers me a piece but I just glare back into his eyes and don’t move a muscle. I’m not eating or cooperating at all until he gives me what I want. I’ll starve. I don’t care.

He leans back in the chair and eats the piece himself, meeting my glower even and calm. At least he’s paying attention to me.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Ben.”

I scowl. “Feel free to expand upon that.”

His smile has faded into a flat-mouthed stare that’s impossible to read. He’s blank. I’m not used to not being able to read people, and I wear my emotions loud and clear.

“Ben _Solo_,” he adds. Pauses, then shows me his palm with a burn that matches mine. They’re as unique as fingerprints; one of a kind, registered with the federal government. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been actively avoiding _you._”

Ben admires his palm, gently turning his wrist so the mark catches the sun and shines a bit. He doesn’t reply, bored again with what I’m saying. I can’t feel any emotion from him—Lucy says she can’t, but Tom can feel her—part of the reason why the man gets control.

It’s slowly sinking in. I’m stuck here. He isn’t going to let me go and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I lick my lips, trying not to cry. “I own a business—I own my own house, and a car, and—”

“I know. You were very good at your job, too. I’m very proud of you.”

_Were_.

My eyes well up with tears, but it doesn’t affect Ben in the least. He leans his elbow on his chair, temple on his index finger as he watches me slowly slipping into a meltdown. It’s the same look I get in meetings; same obnoxious expectant stare.

“Please let me keep it.” No point in demanding. He doesn’t react to demands.

Ben raises his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s _mine_—because I worked hard to build it, and it’s meant to help women, and because you have no right to take it away from me.”

He shrugs and now I’m positive I’m going to throw up. He doesn’t care at all. He’s going to sell it or destroy it from the inside out and all my years designing and sorting fabrics and staying up all night mean nothing. My business is my whole life and he’s going to kill it.

I start crying. “You can’t do this.”

“Eat something, dear. You’ll feel better.” Ben gestures toward the window, spearing a piece of chicken with the fork. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk. If you eat, we can go enjoy it.”

“I’m not eating any of your fucking food! I’m not fucking _hungry_!” I pull _hard _on the restraints, voice lifting to a shriek. The leather burns my skin but I don’t give a shit. “You can’t do this! I—I had my serial number hidden—I stayed covered up!”

“Rey. Don’t make a scene.”

Panicked, I scream and thrash as best as I can with my wrists and ankles bound to the gurney. The pain worsens in my head and neck but it’s a small price to pay for pissing Ben off. His calm expression takes on a hard edge while he watches me melting down, mouth hidden behind a curled index finger.

Haley bustles in with my worst nightmare in her gloved hand: a big awful needle. She comes to the bedside but Ben touches her arm and shakes his head. It seems to surprise her.

“No need to medicate her,” he says. His dark eyes come back to mine, black and cold. “She’s going to learn to behave.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want her to hurt her head.”

“She’ll be fine.” Ben looks up and smiles. It’s dismissive, like when a waiter comes by and you don’t need or want anything. “Thank you.”

The nurse frowns, but leaves without sticking the needle in me.

No one else comes in the entire time I’m screaming. I keep going until my throat is too sore to continue and my wrists bleed through the restraints; I figure someone has to come at some point to shut me up.

But they don’t, and I run out of steam.

I shiver miserably as Ben offers me a piece of chicken again. I’m sweating and terrified and angry but I swallow and obediently take the bite. I have to calm down—I really have to calm down, but that’s easier said then done when you’re strapped to a gurney.

He spears a potato. “Poor behavior won’t be punished today. I know you’re frightened and confused. In some significant pain.” The fork comes back and I take another trembling bite. “But I won’t tolerate disobedience and tantrums at home.”

The food tastes good, at least. My head hurts like hell from screaming so I only take a few bites before I turn my head away, but Ben doesn’t seem annoyed. He sets the fork down, folds a napkin in a neat triangle, and leans across the gurney to gently wipe my mouth.

I snap at his fingers. He tuts, grasping my jaw in one big hand so he can wipe away the tears on my cheeks and clean my nose. All I can do is push my head back in the pillows and squeeze my eyes shut. I have to get out of this fucking bed.

“I need to pee,” I blurt.

Ben throws the napkin away. He grasps the gurney rails and gives me an expectant look.

“I don’t entirely trust you to use the bathroom, but if you try running off, you’ll be using a bed pan instead.”

That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I just need to stretch my legs and not be lying down.

I nod, and Ben goes to free my ankles first. I curl my toes and draw my legs up, bending my knees so they tent under the white sheet. My muscles tingle like they’re as relieved as I am.

He lets one wrist go. It throbs painfully, raw and a little bloody from my struggling. I flex my fingers and turn the wrist, wincing. Fuck. Ouch.

Ben leans across me to free my other wrist. He smells nice, not spicy or like aftershave, but like that crisp ‘ocean’ cologne Macy’s sells for way too much—not heavy and cheap like Axe. Some of the men in meetings lay that shit on thick.

He draws back, a dark cloud on my sunny day. I slowly sit up in bed. My back cracks and I twist my neck until it pops a couple times. I’m stiff as hell.

“I’m sure Haley can bring ointment for your wrists.”

Ben lowers the rail on his side of the bed, then he casually leans over and lifts me up, hugging my upper body to his chest. He sets me on my feet, red hospital slippers and all, and I almost fall flat on my face. I grab his forearms and pant, dizzy, nauseous again. It happens so fast I feel like I might faint.

His fingers reach all the way to my elbows. He holds me firmly while I try to get my bearings. It’s like I’m grabbing two tree branches—he’s immovable.

“Nauseous?” he asks. I nod and he nods. “I’ll let the nurse know.”

But it’s a little late for that. Haley comes in and smiles as she comes up to us, hands clasped like she can’t wait to stab me with a needle and make me piss in a bed pan. I try to steady my breathing.

“I’d be happy to take her, Mister Solo,” she says. She touches my shoulder and forearm. “It’s not problem.”

Through my double vision and hard breaths, I see him smile in a _really _unsettling way. His eyes laser in on where she’s touching my forearm and his jaw tenses, and maybe I see a mushroom cloud exploding in his pupils. He tightens his grip on my elbows.

Ben keeps his smile, though. “I don’t mind.” His eyelid twitches, façade fading. “I realize we’re in a hospital, but Haley—if you don’t mind—you’re very close to touching her palm, and you’re not wearing gloves.”

“Oh! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” She takes a sharp step back with a genuinely horrified look on her face. “I’m so sorry!”

“No worries. It’s my mistake, really. I should’ve been better prepared and had gloves made sooner.”

She apologizes again before hurrying out of the room, and Ben visibly relaxes. Lucy doesn’t wear a glove.

“Okay then,” he says, “off we go.”

It’s not like a _Hobbit _journey. He helps me walk the couple feet to the bathroom and doesn’t follow me in thank god, so I can pee on my own. The door shuts behind me but it doesn’t have a lock.

I pee. Wash my hands. I look in the mirror and wash my face to get rid of the redness and tears from crying, then I stare at the shiny red scar on my palm. It’s not going anywhere and I hate it already. His is on the opposite hand like a mirror image.

Ben is waiting between me and the door when I come out. He offers me a pill and a glass of water, which is much better than Haley jabbing me with a needle.

“For the nausea,” he says.

“I’m fine. I feel better.”

I’m not convincing. He keeps his palm open, small green pill in the center of his burn. I have a feeling it’s not for nausea and I’m not taking it.

Neither of us blinks. The room drifts back into icy silence, only broken by birds singing softly outside and the distant rumble of traffic. It really is a beautiful day.

Ben still doesn’t blink as he returns the pill to his breast pocket. “Okay—but you should drink some water.”

“Fine.”

I gulp down the glass because I’m thirsty as hell, and he takes it back without a word. I shuffle back to the bed with him looming a foot behind me, casting a shadow across my white bedspread. My spine prickles from his proximity. I pull back the sheets with trembling fingers so I can lie down.

Don’t run. Don’t be stupid. It seems easy, but you won’t get anywhere.

“Did you sell my house?” I croak. I clear my throat and repeat the question. “Did you sell my house?”

“It’s on the market, yes.”

Fuck. I take my time arranging the sheets because I don’t want to lie back down—and I’m crying again.

“I paid half a million.”

“I know. I’ll move the money to a long term account for college funds and emergencies. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“It’s _my _house. It’s _my _money.”

Ben moves closer. My eyes are getting heavy, and I realize the pill was a red herring to get me to drink the water.

He looms over my back, threatening without saying a word. I’m too weak in the knees to keep standing and slump over the bed in the next moment, and I feel his body heat right behind mine, and then his breath in my hair. He might rip out my spine with his teeth.

I stare as he rests a hand on the back of mine and feel him do the same the other on the opposite side. He gives a gentle squeeze, unmoving for a full minute, smelling my hair and stroking my thumbs with his own. It feels like I’m suffocating.

My eyes won’t stay open and my sobs reduce to sniffles. I flex my hands under his but it’s useless. I’m suffocating. The world is turning black again.

“It’s worth… s’worth a lot,” I slur. I give a weak squirm. “S’worth a lot.”

“I know,” he whispers back like he’s entertaining the words of a lunatic. “And I’m very proud of you—but you should rest, dear. We can go for a walk later on. It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day.”

Breaths come faster and harder. I roll my eyes to keep them from closing but they flutter shut, and I whimper as I black out to elevator music and singing birds and my soulmate pinning me down like a human straitjacket.


	3. A frightening place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i didn't love this concept so much that i neglect my other stories..... but here i am

My eyes snap open. I’m back from my commercial break, but the setting’s changed.

I sit up in a small bed with blue sheets, in a room with beige walls and matching white furniture. There’s some generic pictures of sailboats and shells hanging up, and dried out sand dollars to decorate the top of a dresser. Books on a white bookshelf—_Atlas Shrugged, War and Peace, Moby Dick. _

The décor is just so. It’s neat, arranged meticulously, and I immediately know I’m dealing with a fucking nutcase. Normal people aren’t so precise.

My bed is soft and the sheets are warm, but I throw them back and stumble to my feet. I make it to the open window and push back the curtains, only to find thick bars keeping me from climbing out. It looks over a manicured lawn with a white picket fence and a pool, all too straight and perfect.

“Come away from the window, dear.”

I look back and see Ben sitting in a rocking chair near my bed, reading a book with glasses on. He doesn’t look back at me and his tone is only mildly correcting. He turns the page. I don’t know how I didn’t see him.

“Why should I?” I retort.

“You’ll catch a chill in your nightgown. I’m sure you don’t want to see our friend Haley again so soon.” He peers at me over the rim of his glasses, raising his eyebrows. “Come away from the window, please.”

We stare at each other again. I’m in a sleeveless white nightgown that drapes down to my ankles and he’s dressed in another blue shirt with a black belt. I don’t like being so dressed down in front of him, I especially don’t like that I’m not wearing a bra.

Ben sighs. He sets aside his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose as he stands from the rocking chair, crossing the room to me. I glare at he shuts the window and turns the lock, the pulls the curtain closed. The breeze and sun die away.

He returns to his chair and resumes reading.

I pace. I search the room, checking drawers for weapons and only finding a Bible, and Ben doesn’t bother stopping me. He doesn’t even mind when I go to my adjoining bathroom to search there. It’s the same ocean theme as the bedroom.

It feels like the creepiest hotel ever, and I’ve been in some creepy hotels.

I come back to the bedroom. It’s quiet. Ben is busy reading and doesn’t acknowledge me when I try the door—but it has a keypad with a scanner so I know it won’t be possible for me to open. Must read his retina. He must be a paranoid dude.

“Rey. Please lie down.”

I glare at the back of his head. “What am I; your prisoner? Is that it?”

Ben flips a page and ignores me for a minute or two before he replies.

“We all devise our own destinies. How you devise _yours_ is something I can only partly control.” He peers at me over his shoulder, expression blank. “I’ll ask one more time for you to lie down, then I won’t ask again. I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Fuck you.”

Again, he sighs and stands. I tense because I assume he’s coming after me, but he instead rolls my sheets and pillows into a neat ball, stripping the bed entirely, and sets the bundle beside his chair.

He sits again, and resumes reading.

I clench my jaw. He thinks shutting a window and taking sheets will make me do what he wants? I used to live on the street—I lived in a _box_.

“I want to call Lucy,” I say.

“Do you?”

Son of a…

I nod, but he’s reading, so he doesn’t see it. “Yes.”

Ben turns a page. He reads incredibly fast. Maybe he has one of those eidetic memories.

“You’ve disobeyed me twice in the past five minutes alone. You’ve done nothing to earn the privilege of using the phone.”

“Privilege? Are you for real?” I stomp toward him and he keeps reading, rocking slightly in the chair. “Give me the damn phone. You can’t—you can’t just kidnap me because of a scar! There’s channels to go through to even prove it’s real!”

I’m mad, but as usual, he isn’t. He hums while he reads: _Robinson Crusoe_, one of the most boring books I was forced to read in college.

I keep pacing, growing more disoriented and upset by the minute. My house is gone. My car is gone. My business is up in the air, maybe liquidated. No meeting with Gucci; no chatting with Lucy on lunch break. Rose won’t know where I am, either. Not yet. Not until it’s on the government directory.

I want my stuff back. I want my house and my phone and my black out shades. I have to get out of this fucking bedroom—I don’t even know where I am.

“Where are we?” I demand. I’m rubbing my forehead, shivering. “Is this LA?”

“Where do you think we are, Rey?”

Jesus Christ. “I don’t fucking know! Tell me where I am!”

Ben clicks his tongue, shaking his head, and doesn’t reply. I’m on the verge of lunging for his throat.

I stomp to the closed window and look out again. We have neighbors from what I can see, but more importantly, I can see familiar purple mountains and a city scape off in the distance. Okay, it looks like it’s outside of L.A., maybe.

Beyond the white picket fence there’s some trees that lead off the property. It doesn’t seem like there’s a huge barbed wire fence like I assumed.

“Rey.”

Ben has his book closed on his lap, glasses dangling from his fingertips. He’s watching me now, too calm and composed, like a volcano about to erupt.

He raises his eyebrows. “Come away from the window… and lie down.” His head tilts toward the bed, just slightly. “I insist.”

It makes me even angrier, even though I know I need to stay calm and keep from getting angry. He’s kidnapped me, taken everything away from me, and he has the audacity to treat me like a toddler.

So instead of lying down and shutting up, which I’ve never done in my entire life, I attack him.

Ben doesn’t move. He watches me storming closer, inscrutable like a sheet of ice, and only reacts when I go for his throat. He moves _fast_.

A big hand seizes my wrist with punishing force. It’s like being bit by a huge snake, all hard crushing pain that twists my anger into fear. I yank and yank as he slowly rises from the chair, carefully setting aside his book on the nightstand. He places his glasses delicately on top.

“Let me GO!” I shriek, breaking down into full-scale hysterics. I thrash and lash out and he catches my other wrist in the same quick, forceful way. “Stop—stop!”

“Every time you misbehave…”

Ben shoves me on the bed so hard that I bounce up a foot. I scream louder because I know what’s coming, and I wrestle desperately as his hands grasp the hem of the nightgown and yank it up and over my head. No, no, no—no, no, _no!_

I’m still screaming when he steps away with the wadded up nightgown in his big hand, and he adds it to his collection with the sheets. I scramble back on the bare mattress and curl into a ball, humiliated from being naked down to my panties. My heart flutters in my ears—he’s going to rape me. I know it.

But he collects the bundle from the floor and tucks it under his arm. He clips his glasses over his breast pocket, picks up his book, and heads for the door.

“You will be punished.”

He’s finishing his thought but I’m scared shitless and hardly realize it. He taps the keyboard and a blue light flashes, reading his retina. A lock pops.

Ben opens the door and doesn’t look back at me. “And I’m not a very forgiving man.”

It shuts. The lock turns with an ominous click.

I’m left trembling in a ball on a strange bed, almost naked, and I have no idea how to escape. My teeth chatter, goosebumps up my arms. I’m going to cry again. I’m going to cry and cry and cry. I don’t know how to get out of here—I’m a prisoner, and it’s legal, and no one will save me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and then roam the ceiling, only to find a black camera in the corner aimed directly at the bed.

God. _God. _

I crawl to the floor, crawl under the bed like a wounded animal, and decay.


	4. Their faces are concrete grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for ur comments omg i'm HypED
> 
> also i wrote this like right after the last one lmao

The sun sets outside and my new soulmate still doesn’t come back to my bedroom. I’m left alone under the bed, sobbing and hugging myself on soft beige carpet that’s as bland as everything else.

My stomach growls when darkness creeps across the room. I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand—I can’t hide under here forever. I have to figure a way out of this and away from _him. _He’s fucking terrifying. He’s like a serial killer.

But he’s not going to kill me. If I die, he dies.

Trembling, I crawl from under the bed and up to the mattress. The camera focuses as I lie down flat on my back with my arms crossed over my chest, and I close my eyes. I know he’s watching me, and he’ll only come back if I do what he wants.

And he does. It takes a little while, but he does.

The keypad beeps before the door opens, and Ben steps inside. His hair is back in a half ponytail and he’s wearing his reading glasses but still in the same clothes from earlier—and he has the same blank look on his face. He isn’t going to volunteer anything.

I swallow hard. “I’m hungry.”

“And what have you done to deserve dinner?”

Shit. Even food is a bargaining chip.

I stare at him and he stares back at me, eyebrows raised in an imploring way. He won’t let me starve, but he probably won’t feed me until it’s critical.

“What do you want?” I snap.

Ben shrugs. He doesn’t respond, just gives me an innocent, vaguely confused look.

There’s not much I can give him, but I have an idea of what might work. I get off the bed to my feet, close my eyes, and clench my jaw as I shimmy out of my panties. It makes my skin crawl being naked in front of him but given how he already took my nightgown, I assume full nudity is what he wants.

I keep my eyes squeezed shut and wait. He’s quiet for a painful long minute.

“Come here, please.”

Relief. Good, it worked.

His dark eyes follow me up to where I stop two feet in front of him, silent, trying to keep it together. Ben offers me his first smile in hours and opens his hand expectantly, shiny scar catching the dim light. He wants a trophy from his kill.

I push my red panties in his palm, and his long fingers close over them like a Venus flytrap. He puts them in his back pocket without breaking eye contact.

“It’s non-traditional,” he says, opening the door behind him, “but I do enjoy cooking. It’s not something that will be expected of you, though you will bake when we have guests.”

Good. I can poison all of them.

Ben leads me into a hallway with dark wood floors and immaculate white walls. I try turning to assess how many doors there are but he turns my gently by the arm toward a landing, and I have to walk that way or risk pissing him off.

It’s cool. There’s central air conditioning, thank god. I pad along the floor to the landing and find a long staircase down to the first floor, framed by a beautiful chandelier and wrought iron fence lining the edge. The front door is bright red. The floors are still the same dark shade of brown, and the walls are eggshell white. It’s creepy.

He touches the small of my back to urge me down the stairs. I cross my arms over my chest, stepping to keep my thighs pressed together and maybe hide how absolutely naked I am. I’ve been naked in front of men plenty of times, and I’ve strutted around their houses naked, but this is obviously not the same.

We walk into a kitchen, typical for Los Angeles: modern appliances, big island, lighter floors, and it feeds into a sitting area for breakfast. There’s a window over the sink with the curtains drawn, a window in the corner near the breakfast table, and a sliding glass door. They all have the shades or curtains drawn so I can’t see outside.

But we keep walking. Ben leads me to a dining room, back to dark floors, a long table done up with a red cloth and candles. There’s porcelain plates out and I recognize the gold trim along the edges. It’s real gold. It’s from my fucking house.

I bite hard on my lower lip to keep from screaming as Ben pulls out the chair next to me. Thank god we’re at opposite ends of the table. He stole my favorite dish set—it was the first thing I bought for _my house._

“I’ve already eaten,” he says. He pushes in the chair when I sit. It’s freezing on my thighs and ass. “But I’ll bring you some of the soup I made.”

“Is it going to knock me unconscious like the water?”

Fingers brush my neck. He gathers my hair back, then draws it into a loose ponytail halfway up my head.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” he says offhandedly. He tightens the ponytail and gives it a light tug. “Would you like a red or white?”

I dig my nails into my thighs. “White.”

Ben walks off, black shoes clicking lightly on the hardwood. I glare at the bowl in front of me and have to close my eyes again to keep from _flipping out. _He stole my stuff. He stole my stuff. He’s not even acknowledging that he stole my stuff.

A hard lump forms and I swallow it down as I open my eyes and look around. It’s a formal dining room. There’s a hutch with fine china and the rest of my dish set, and some fancy crystal wine glasses. There’s another short table with a runner and more plain décor, just a fake vine, and regular plates inside.

No phone. It’s not the nineties anymore so there’s no house phone.

He doesn’t have any framed pictures of another human being, but he does have one of a dog I recognize: a Belgian malinois. It’s happy and panting and auspiciously placed in the center of a wall.

That’s it. It’s all assorted matching furniture and a big picture of a happy dog.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. That’s like every man, ever. Their dog and boring décor.

Ben returns with my soup, which he switches with the empty bowl in front of me. It’s reddish and filled with vegetables and pasta—it’s either minestrone or pasta fagioli, but it smells good, and that’s all I care about.

He tugs my chair back and sets a folded napkin over my lap, then pushes me back in. I glower at the white Zinfandel he pours into my glass, only a third of the way, when I would _easily _down half the bottle on my own. It’s zin, not vodka.

“Can I have more?” I ask.

“No.” Ben nudges the stem, pushing the glass another centimeter over. “You may have another bowl of soup if you finish that and as much water as you please.”

“You’re keeping me prisoner and I can’t even get drunk?”

He pauses, then adds a splash more. Great. Thanks.

I’m left to eat, and I maybe shovel half the bowl down my throat before he comes back a minute later. I’m hungry and I’ve never been delicate when I eat, but I have a feeling he won’t like a mess.

I wipe my mouth as Ben sits across the table. He has an iPad out and doesn’t acknowledge me while scrolling around on it. He sips a mug of coffee, plain white mug, and I notice the liquid is dark brown. Sick. He must drink it black.

We do our own thing. I eat my soup as slowly as I can, catching whatever drips down my chin, and he doesn’t look up once. I’m done within ten minutes.

The silence stretches into uncomfortable territory. I tap my fingers on the table and lean back, sighing, polishing off my zin. Ben still doesn’t move.

“The dishes look familiar,” I say. “Where’d you find them? An estate sale?”

He ignores me. Fine. I’ll find another way to poke the hornet’s nest.

My gaze shifts to the framed picture of the dog. I’ve seen them before with police officers. They look a lot like German Shepherds but I’ve heard they’re harder to train and need a firm hand.

“Whose dog?” I ask.

Ben sips his coffee. “Mine.”

“…What’s his name?”

“Her name was Mia.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I keep tapping my fingers, growing restless. “Can I have more soup?”

“You managed to spill half of it down your front. Maybe eat that instead.”

Ugh. I roll my eyes and drink my glass of water, then wait for Ben to decide what he wants me to do. Am I supposed to ask, or just wait?

I wait. I wait and wait. I wait some more. I wait until I’m about to fucking explode and hurl my wine glass into the wall.

“Would you like to sleep in your bedroom, or mine?”

I blink and look up. He’s setting the iPad on the table, slipping his glasses off to rub his eyes. There’s a right and wrong answer to this question but I’m willing to risk the obvious wrong answer.

“Mine.”

“Alright.” Ben stands, twisting his neck from side to side, and he comes to collect my bowl. _My _bowl. “Come along, dear.”

We walk back to the kitchen, where he sets the bowl in the sink and flips off the light. I’m led through suffocating darkness to the stairs, back up to the landing, and down the hall to my bedroom door. Ben taps the keypad and it reads his eye.

He lets me in. “I’m down the hall if you need me. There’s a panic button in the nightstand and you can call me through the keypad.”

Whatever. Like I’ll need him.

“Rey.”

Ben touches the small of my back and I turn, annoyed and flustered by the intimate gesture. He slips his arm around my waist and tugs me against him—and he gently grasps my hand in his, threading our fingers together. I’m only allowed a second of him breathing on my neck before warmth tingles up my arm.

The marks are touching. My eyelids grow heavy as the warmth spreads; it’s so relaxing I could spill on the floor like a puddle. I’m drugged. He drugged me.

Dazed, I close my eyes and bury my face in his shoulder, and he strokes the side of my index finger with his thumb. Subtle heat follows where his skin brushes against mine, and I forget I hate him.

Ben lifts me in one fluid motion. He carries me to the bed and sets me down in the middle of the mattress, leaning over so he can gently pin my hand with his own. I don’t mind. I like how he smells and how warm he is, and his breath on my neck. I grasp the front of his dress shirt to bring him closer.

His fingertip traces up my outer thigh, slow and unhurried to my knee. He squeezes our hands together and his lips brush my neck, and for a second, I think he might bite me.

He sighs, drowsy, sated. “This is ours, Rey. For our home, and our bedroom. It’s not for sharing or public displays—it’s for us to enjoy in private.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

Ben gradually presses his trembling fingertips hard into my thigh. His voice lowers and hardens, and I whimper, because I feel like I’m high as hell and he’s giving me a heavy dose of Narcan.

“If you ever show your mark to another man,” he whispers, “I will punish you—_severely_. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” He lightens his grip, teasing under my knee and letting his lips graze my jaw. “And don’t hide from me under the bed. I worry when I can’t see all that beautiful golden skin.”

Ben withdraws and I’m left ten degrees colder, pleasant haze fading and leaving behind an empty block of ice. I shiver and curl into a ball again, but it’s worse than before, because the warmth has been ripped away and he’s the only source.

“Have a nice night, dear,” he calls softly. The keypad beeps. “I’m right down the hall if you catch a chill.”

Then the door opens and shuts. I stare at the wall, trembling in total darkness, and the keypad beeps.


	5. And I'm wondering, should I turn around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aggressive makeup application

“Rey, dear. It’s morning.”

His voice brings me from my hazy dream back to cold reality, curled in a ball on a bare mattress in a strange empty room. I shiver and curl tighter.

Ben cups the side of my face in one big palm. It’s warm but rough, not much of a comfort, and I wince at the touch. I really don’t want him touching me—at all. Ever. I’d rather peel my skin off.

His hand roams up over my shoulder. My skin tingles along the way like it really might peel off.

“We wake at six o’clock every morning,” he murmurs. “No use in wasting the day sleeping. How _did _you sleep, by the way?”

I try to ignore him carrying on down my arm. He’s unhurried, gently dragging his nails along and making goosebumps bloom on my upper arms. It’s lazy and slow but I know it’s not an innocent gesture. I’m being tested again and I _just _woke up.

“Fine,” I lie.

“Good, good. I’m glad.” He pauses at my wrist on the bed, stroking with two fingertips along the side like he’s thinking. I can only see his black pants and his belt buckle. “Why don’t you shower before we have breakfast? I’ll find you something to wear.”

It doesn’t compute, getting clothes, food, and a shower for nothing in return.

I nod once and Ben takes a gentle grasp of my hand to help me sit up. He’s dressed up in _another _blue shirt. He doesn’t change his outfits very much, but today he has his hair back in a ponytail. His dark eyes still give absolutely nothing away but linger on my chest.

He smiles. I give him a sarcastic smile back. I know he’s up to something that I’m too tired to figure out.

But he lets me go take a shower, which feels great and chases away the cold air conditioning for a bit. I scrub my hair and ignore the razor he left for me to shave. Armpits only, and my legs on special occasions, or whenever people can _see _them. I’m not giving him any special fucking treatment.

I brush my teeth as well and come back to a pink A-line skirt and a white blouse, paired with a belt and heels that look like they’ll snap my neck.

Ben is sitting in the rocking chair with his hands folded in his lap. He smiles and offers me a white plunge bra dangling from his fingertip with a matching thong. I _hate _thongs. I especially hate wearing them for no good goddamn reason.

I snatch the undergarments. “Can’t I wear comfortable panties? Bikini or boy shorts or something?”

“You can wear nothing at all if you like.”

“…Fine.” I slip the bra over my shoulders, irritated, and clip the back. He watches. “I’m just saying, three inch heels and thongs don’t mix.”

“Would you prefer flat shoes?”

“I don’t know. What do _you_ want me to wear, Ben?”

It draws a rare smile that doesn’t feel… predatory. He studies me while I slip on the thong, mouth concealed behind his curled index finger, but he doesn’t reply. I take the hint and put on the blouse and skirt and step into the heels. At least they’re a good weapon for driving into a jugular.

Ben motions to the bathroom. “Dry your hair. There’s makeup in the drawers: do something natural, and come back when you’re through.”

Natural? That can mean a million different things.

I sigh and go back to the bathroom to blow dry my hair, which scatters water on the blouse. I’m not sure what to do with my hair so I use a scrunchie to hold it back while I put on makeup. I’m pretty much as sloppy as I usually looked before work.

Putting on makeup starts okay: I use a little eyeliner and pink lip gloss but don’t bother with eye shadow. But I think about how I used to spend hours practicing when I was trying to get my business loan, and how I looked like a clown but they approved me anyway, and then I’m crying and smearing it down my face like I did when they approved me.

Son of a _bitch_. I blot my eyes and paw through the drawer for makeup remover so I can try again, then the door opens and I cry harder.

Ben closes the door behind him, clicking his tongue like he’s disappointed. He opens the medicine cabinet and takes out a pack of makeup removing wipes, closes it, then hefts me up on the counter like I weigh six pounds. My feet dangle off the edge.

“It’s just as well,” he says. He grasps my jaw and firmly wipes away the eyeliner and lip gloss, eyebrows drawn like he’s focusing intently. “This isn’t what I was looking for, anyway.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I was just thinking about… home, and my business, and—”

He shuts a drawer hard and I jump, startled. This time he’s not as gentle when he takes my jaw and tells me to look up. I try not to move. It’s mascara, and I don’t want him to accidentally blind me.

“Natural,” Ben says icily, “means moisturizer, primer, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, and lip gloss. Simple.” He switches to the other eye and finishes just as fast, then opens the drawer again. “Begin with the foundation, move to the eyes, finish with the lips.”

“You already did the mascara, you prick!”

I’m ignored. He goes through the motions like he’s done it a hundred times before: moisturize, prime, then foundation, and he pauses a couple times to check his handiwork. He applies the eyeshadow and liner without disturbing the mascara and picks a lighter shade of lip gloss.

Ben pauses. His dark eyes flicker to my mouth, and for a second I’m terrified he’s going to kiss me.

Then he’s painting on the lip gloss, and tosses it back in the drawer. I blink as he sets me on the floor again and turns me abruptly to face the mirror.

It’s _flawless_—eerily flawless. All my freckles are gone and my skin has a sheen like a porcelain doll, and he didn’t even use bronzer or anything to accomplish that. The foundation blends in to my throat neatly in the way I’ve been practicing for years.

Ben tilts his head, studying me in the mirror. “Good enough. We won’t have company until next week, so you’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

“Company?” I catch his reflected gaze, then turn, swallowing hard. “Lucy? Can I call her?”

“No. Our neighbors, Poe and Kaydel Dameron.”

Shit. I’m sure the neighbors won’t be any better.

We leave the bathroom and Ben leads me downstairs to the kitchen. Years of living and working alone taught me plenty of cooking but not a lot of baking, and he leaves me with a recipe book and his iPad.

No instructions. “Something simple.”

The iPad is locked into an app with more recipes, but I spend some time trying to back out of the app and get on the internet. Ben isn’t too far away—he sits in the living room with a book, not watching football or something, and his eyes aren’t on me but I know he’s watching. He doesn’t miss much.

I’m not hungry but he also didn’t offer breakfast like he said. I give up on getting the internet and clear my throat, because I should probably eat something.

“Breakfast?” I call.

“That’s what you’re making.”

“You said that _you _prefer to cook.”

Ben shrugs. “Not today.”

Fuck. Fine—motherfucker. Son of a bitch.

I search until I find a pan and the other implements I need to make omelettes. There’s plenty of eggs in the fridge, bacon, cheese, and some other odds and ends to add to the mix. No rat poison under the sink, unfortunately. No bleach, either.

I’m left as the housemaid, cooking in three inch heels and a thong, and he reads quietly across the room. I don’t need a recipe for omelettes but I pretend I do, sometimes checking the iPad to see if any of my ideas are working. If I can just get on Twitter and message Lucy—then I can try to call Amilyn.

“How are things going, dear?”

I jump, whipping around, and see Ben two feet away with a hand resting on the edge of the island. He smiles and raises his eyebrows, head tilted.

“Fine,” I squeak. I cough. “Fine. It’s fine. I had to check and see—I forgot how to make omelettes.”

His smile widens. “Did you? Because it looks like you’re trying to _leave_ the app I opened to help you.” His expressions shifts into an innocent one and I know I’m fucked. I know I’m really fucked when he casually starts toward me. “Do you know of a better one?”

I shrug feebly. The bacon is on the frying pan two feet away from me and I already have the eggs whisked, I just need to cut up the onions and green peppers. I’m an idiot. Of course I remember how to make a fucking omelette—it’s half _done. _

“I forgot how to… flip it,” I continue lamely. “The directions didn’t say how. I got confused.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ben stops not a foot in front of me, casting a dark shadow across the counter. He opens the drawer to my immediate left and withdraws a _very _big butcher’s knife, one that glints in the sun and looks razor sharp. He takes another slow step closer and nuzzles my hair, pressing his hard body against mine.

“You need to dice the vegetables,” he whispers. He flips the knife in his grasp and I jump again, sucking in a sharp breath. “What type of knife would you like?”

“Chef—Chef’s knife. Chef’s knife.”

He hums and replaces the knife for a smaller one meant for dicing and cutting. I don’t move as he dips his lips to my ear, casually rolling the knife handle through his fingers. Too casual.

“Stay in the app… and be very careful how you use this knife.” Metal swishes and I grab his shirt as he buries the knife in the counter somewhere behind me with a hard swing of his arm. My heart races a mile a minute. His breath is warm. “I would be _beside_ myself if anything were to happen.”

It’s a big ass knife. I can obviously try to stab him with it, or even hurt myself to make him take me to the hospital, but the hospital isn’t any better.

He’s bigger than me and _much _faster. I’m sure he can rip the knife away before I get a clean stab.

Ben slowly withdraws and leans against the island to watch me cook, arms crossed. I’m trembling so badly that I can’t cut the vegetables straight and I’m terrified he’s going to stab _me _if I do it wrong. The shaking gets worse and worse and the oven beeps.

“I know you can flip an omelette, Rey. Would you like to know how I know, that _you _know how to flip an omelette?”

I turn off the alarm and set the bacon aside to cool on a paper towel. My ears ring as I pick up the knife to start dicing the vegetables, and my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my bones. All I have to do is turn around and run the knife right through him.

But if he dies, I die.

Ben steps up behind me and I’m shoved into the edge of the counter. He breaks off a piece of bacon, grabs my hand with the knife, and guides the cutting board in front of us. His other hand holds the board still.

“I know—” His shoes click closer and he takes another small piece of bacon, which he offers to me. I take it. “It’s very good, dear. I know, that _you _know…” He controls my hand, hacking through the top of the onion first. I’m holding it and terrified he’s going to chop my finger off. “Because you had a recipe book in your kitchen with hand-written notes—and a cook who doesn’t know how to flip an omelette doesn’t make hand-written notes.”

The knife comes down hard on the board, and Ben manipulates my hand to turn the onion. His shoulders tense every time he cuts and I feel like I’m suffocating trapped between him and the counter. Stinging pain from the onions just makes it worse.

He finishes and swipes the diced onion into the egg mix, then grabs the bell pepper and hacks off the top and bottom. As always he’s a lot faster than me and soon it joins the mix, too, just leaving the bacon and cheese to be sprinkled in.

But I’m not hungry. I’m sweating through my blouse and watching him use my hand to cut up the bacon like it insulted his mother. Does he even have a mother? Is he a real human being or a fucking cyborg?

Ben swipes the bacon into the mix. He slides the cutting board into the sink with a clatter and rinses the knife under the water, keeping me pinned in front of him. I stare through the curtain at the manicured lawn and the hazy mist clinging to the grass. The sun hasn’t even risen all the way yet.

He dries the knife, resting his cheek against the side of my head. I stare at how it catches the light.

“Now finish what you were asked to do,” he whispers, “set the breakfast table, and don’t lie to me again. I _dislike _lying.”

“Do you say that to all the mannequins you practice putting makeup on?”

But there’s no response. Ben moves away again to watch me finish cooking the omelettes, and I try not to wipe my runny eyes on my white blouse.

I try putting them on plain white plates but he offers me blue ones instead. I’m left to rummage for silverware and napkins and he simply watches the entire time, arms over his chest like a drill sergeant. I’m hyper aware of it. It’s extremely infuriating.

But I finish and sit without another word, digging in to my own omelette and ignoring him. Piece of shit.

Ben moves. He puts away the knife and brings me a mimosa, which I guzzle down because I need a fucking drink, and I’m surprised when he gives me another one. He sits and eats and doesn’t say anything, and that just makes my stomach turn. I deal with it by chugging my second mimosa.

We don’t speak when we’re done. I can tell he’s pissed off, even if his face doesn’t betray it, so I don’t say anything. He collects the dishes and puts them in the washer, and I still sit and don’t move. This isn’t a ‘soulmate.’ I’m a prisoner and he’s the warden.

What’s with not showing my mark to anyone? Lucy has hers uncovered. Lots of people do. I mean, I’ve heard of weird fundamentalists who think the buzz from touching they get is ‘inappropriate’ but _tons _of people do it in public. Ben must be a weird fundamentalist. He probably pushed for birth control to be outlawed and burned my body suits.

I’m mad. I’m so mad I could—

“Don’t even think about it.”

I blink and look up. He’s hovering over the sink cleaning the knife again, back to me. The hair stands up on the back of my neck like he’s in my skin.

“About what?” I snap.

Ben twirls the knife and runs his finger a centimeter from the blade. “I know you’re angry, Rey. I can feel it in my blood.” He looks at me over his shoulder, face blank. “I can feel your intent—and it’s in your best interest to abandon the intent.”

I would _love _to kill him, particularly when he’s invading my private thoughts and feelings. But I think of other things, like Rose and her new boyfriend Finn, and whether or not they decided to check if they’re soulmates. Most people date for a while before testing it out. It’s like a weird marriage proposal.

Crushing loneliness and despair come back but Ben seems satisfied. He puts the knife away.

“Come here, please.”

My heels click across the floor. I stop near the island, just because I can’t stand being any closer, but he smiles and beckons and I have to obey.

Ben straightens and yanks me flush against him by my hips. He holds firm, lips on my neck, this time kissing and nibbling instead of harmlessly brushing skin. It turns to harder biting that’s hungry and possessive and makes my skin flush and tingle. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I’ve slept with biters.

We stumble back toward the island, but I’m shocked by his abruptness and shove him away.

He doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t try again. He shrugs and motions for me to follow him—to which I hesitate—and we go back upstairs to my bedroom. It’s bizarre. He’s just letting it go?

He opens the door. “I’ll be downstairs working. You may contact me on the keypad.”

“…Okay.” I fold my arms, nervous. “Sorry, did I do something wrong?”

Ben raises his eyebrows, clicking on the keypad, and I _know _I did something wrong.

“Why would you ask that?” he muses.

Then he shuts the door in my face and the lock turns, leaving me without a definite answer. I’m alone in my bedroom with nothing but a couple books to keep me company, and I know I can’t change out of my outfit.

I look back at the door. That was definitely another test, and I failed. I wonder what the consequences will be.


	6. Buy another ticket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it begins???

The punishment for rejecting Ben becomes crystal clear when he he asks me to make one sandwich for lunch. I sit at the table while he eats it and my spine prickles. He’s going to take food away from me if I don’t let him fuck me.

It’s a big deal if we don’t, though. Sooner or later the government will intervene, wondering why soulmates aren’t reproducing like they’re legally required to, and we’ll be subjected to an inquiry. I’ve heard of it. Sperm is tested, they watch how you have sex, and give some helpful tips and tricks.

But that’s just for a couple months. Then their patience runs out and you _both _go to a camp. It’s not a summer camp, and there’s no leaving until a baby is conceived. Unattached couples can’t have babies, so carrying on the human race falls squarely on the shoulders of unwilling soulmates.

Thinking about it makes me sick. I rub my face and try not to cry, and fail miserably again, but I turn away from Ben and keep it to myself.

“I’m not… I’m not having sex with you,” I hiss between sobs. “So I guess I can starve to death!”

A glass clinks. He’s quiet for a minute but I can tell he’s thinking and not just blowing me off.

The chair scrapes as he stands. He brings his plate to the dishwasher, calmly storing it in the top shelf, and he washes his hands. Ben presses his tongue to his inner cheek as he opens the refrigerator and scans the shelf, then casually picks something up.

“We’re expected to conceive within six months,” he says. He shuts the door and turns to me and I can feel my own face go white as a sheet. “And I don’t _need _you to cooperate.”

It’s a turkey baster about a third of the way full with white fluid, and I know exactly what white fluid it is. Ben holds it like a hypodermic needle and gives me a blank, bored stare, like I shouldn’t be surprised he’s keeping his cum cooled in the fridge.

I wobble to my feet. My knees are literally knocking together and I shake my head.

“Get away from me.” I stumble in my heel. “Get that _away from me_.”

“Hunger strike all you like. You’re still going to become pregnant one way or another.”

I’ve only been here for a day and he’s already threatening to inject me with his semen like I’ve been rejecting him for weeks. Maybe that’s worse than sex. It’s cold and clinical and revolting, but sex is intimate violation, mixing sweat and moans, touching skin.

Ben flips the baster in his hand and smiles before he puts it away. “Forgive me for being so forward, dear—but I won’t risk any government intervention in our bedroom. I’m sure you understand.”

“So you’re going to rape me with a fucking turkey baster?”

That makes his jaw twitch. His façade cracks a little, like a strike through ice, so I keep pushing.

“This could’ve been avoided if you didn’t fuck with my SureLine profile and hunt me down. Why do you even want me? I’m clearly not your type.”

“No?”

“…No. I’m not a fifties housewife, and I’ll never _be _a fifties housewife. Why didn’t you marry someone who wants that lifestyle and leave me the hell alone? You don’t like a damn thing about me and now we have to have kids and… _stay _together.”

He turns on the dishwasher. The kitchen is silent for a long minute I think I’m being ignored again. It’s getting fucking unbearable being ignored constantly.

“Training Mia was a true pleasure.”

I frown, then remember the picture of the dog, and feel sick all over again. Training. Training the dog—he’s comparing this to training his dog. Ben calmly wipes the breakfast table with a cloth and doesn’t look at me while he keeps talking. His voice seems a little softer but I’m still revolted.

“Molding her from a rambunctious puppy to a committed member of my regiment was a challenge—but a pleasure. I enjoyed watching her grow and develop: not through inflicting pain and suffering, but measured discipline and boundaries.”

“I’m not a _dog_,” I spit. “I’m never going to be what you want me to be.”

Ben tosses the cloth in the sink before he approaches me, slow and stalking, and I take a couple steps back into the wall. He’s looming again and smiling, but his eyelid twitches, and I know he’s annoyed my makeup is running. I grit my teeth and meet his vacant eyes.

He props my chin up on his index finger. “I loved her when she was a twelve week old puppy all the same as when she was a fifty pound bitch—and she was a bitch in every sense of the word.”

“Then train another dog. I’m not a dog.”

Emotion finally flickers in his eyes and I feel a brush of it through my own mind. He’s sad. Frustrated. I don’t know if he’s upset I’m not a dog or he’s upset thinking about his dog, but I feel like it’s the prior.

Ben draws his finger to the tip of my chin before he walks away, heading for the living room. I stay against the wall and glare at the back of his head.

“Go fix your face,” he calls. “Meet me near the door when you’re through. We have errands to run, and I’ll let you call your friend if you behave.”

“Lucy? I can call her?”

He gives me a pointed look and I hurry upstairs to redo my makeup. Sure I can run out the front door but the police will just drag me right back to the house, and I’ll be punished for it.

I sit and clean off most of the makeup and carefully put it back on, hands trembling. It takes a while. What do I say to Lucy? Please get my lawyer? Save me?

Ben is standing near the door when I come back down. He scrutinizes my makeup and nods, satisfied with it, then snaps his fingers. My eye twitches but I awkwardly raise my hand, because I figure I know what he wants to do.

“Keep this on at all times.”

I’m right. He helps my fingers on my right hand into a form-fitting white glove that ends about an inch beneath the wrist. It’s stretchy and soft, not terribly uncomfortable, but it’s obviously a glove. Lucy didn’t wear one. I’ve never even seen one before.

“Should I get one of my body suits?” I ask as snippily as I can get away with. “Maybe a habit? Should I wear a paper bag with eye holes?”

“No.” Ben opens the front door and sunlight pours in across his black shoes. “That would be inhumane.”

I’m allowed outside first. It’s not sunny enough for mid-afternoon in Los Angeles, but the humidity is already picking up and it tickles under the glove. I take a deep breath of the fresh air and close my eyes as Ben shuts and locks the door behind us.

It’s nice being outside again: feeling the heat of the sun and the humidity I always bitch about. Even the breeze smells good, polluted as it is.

We have neighbors on all sides with houses that look exactly like ours. They’re different muted shades of brown and gray and cream, more suited for a house in Colorado than the middle of L.A. All the lawns are green and immaculate, all spritzed with sprinklers, and no one has a single unique decoration on their porch. Everything is the same.

It’s… unsettling. Too perfect, like the hospital and the inside of Ben’s house.

He leads me to a black Mercedes that isn’t the car he t-boned me with. It’s an E-class maybe; the type of stupid sports car assholes buy. He opens the door for me and I slip in the leather seat, adjusting my skirt and glaring at my glove.

The dash comes to life with colors and lights when Ben sits. He opens the sun roof and tugs my seatbelt to make sure it’s as tight as he wants.

“We’re going to Macy’s,” he says offhandedly, “so I can find more clothes you’ll fit in. You’ll stay quiet, and if you embarrass me, you won’t be calling your friend for two weeks.”

“Fine.”

He’s as aggressive a driver as I assumed. Thankfully it’s a Benz and can take the violent up and downshifting Ben forces on it, and the seats gently wrap around me so I’m not flying all over the car. I grab the bar on the door just in case.

“Do you work?” I ask.

“I’m retired.”

“…Aren’t you like, thirty?”

He comes to a hard stop and scowls at the car ahead of us. Road rage; typical.

“Thirty-eight.”

“Oh.” I scratch my jaw, rolling my eyes. “Well I grossed three million last year, and I’m twenty-eight. Did _you _gross three million last year?”

“Six, before bonuses.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Ben shrugs, whipping through a roundabout. He doesn’t tell me what he retired from or how how makes that much money, but if he’s home so much then I highly doubt it’s legal.

But military retirement is early—usually sixteen to twenty years of service. Training a malinois, his hardass demeanor, and his unsettling organized house all point to lifetime military serviceman. But no one in the military, short of colonels and commanders, makes _that _much money. That’s like… Pentagon general money.

We arrive at the mall in one piece. Somehow. Ben gets out first and opens my door, offering a hand, and I grudgingly take it to haul myself from the ridiculous low profile Mercedes. I might as well sit my ass directly on the damn ground.

He doesn’t let go. “Don’t make a scene.”

The door shuts with a ominous final bang. I glower as we walk into the mall with our fingers laced like I can actually tolerate being in his presence.

This soulmate shit started a couple decades ago—something something electromagnetic radiation after a big nuke was dropped. It sucks. Society is still trying to adapt, but birth rates are dropping, and soulmates have serious problems when they’re bonded that the government refuses to fix.

They’ll send me to therapy with Ben if I don’t cooperate. ‘Therapy’ means I get told to sit down and shut up.

But lots of things looks normal, like the mall we’re in. The stores are all open, the foodcourt has a few early morning employees getting grills running, and it’s air conditioned and clean. People can pretend the world hasn’t changed when the real problems are easy enough to hide.

Ben leads me into Macy’s and up to the second floor. There aren’t a lot of women shopping yet so we have the clothes racks to ourselves for the most part.

He goes to the dresses. “What do you wear? Blue?”

“No—black, white, beige. I try not to pop. I’m a businesswoman, not a clown at a carnival.”

That draws a smile over his shoulder. He’s not ugly by any means, and sometimes when his smile isn’t so tight and controlled, he looks attractive enough to be a dateable human man. But he’s kidnapped me and destroyed all my possessions, so I hate him instead.

Turns out it doesn’t matter what I wear, because he picks it all while I wait around in my three inch heels. He drags me to the fitting room and clinically helps me out of clothes into the new ones, which he inspects before accepting or rejecting. He’s still got a couple inches on me even with the heels and can see well over the top of my head into the mirror.

We accrue a pile of skirts, dresses, and blouses, but no pants. I need pants.

“I need pants,” I say.

Ben runs his hand down another white dress. “No you don’t. You’ll wear a skirt or a dress.”

I don’t _mind _skirts and dresses, but I need shorts and jeans and capris for the days I’m out in the yard. Unless he won’t let me garden, either.

I press him. “What if we go hiking? Camping? How am I supposed to garden?”

“A nice man named Luke takes care of our lawn and flowers. _You _won’t be hiking or camping any time soon—not until I can trust you won’t flee into the woods to be eaten by a cougar.”

“Maybe I just want pants.”

Ben turns on me sharply and I bump into him. He leans closer so he can whisper in my ear and my heart hammers like it always does when he’s close.

“I prefer when you’re more easily accessible. Besides: who am I to hide those lovely long legs from the world?”

A blush burns straight to my ears. He kisses my cheek as he draws away and beckons for me to follow him.

We go to the undergarment department, somehow making things even more uncomfortable. Ben knows my size and leads me around like a mom and her teenage daughter buying a training bra, and other women give us weird looks.

He seems to like plunge, but they fit me best, so I don’t complain. We amass a colorful bunch before he brings me into the fitting room, leaving our pile of clothes with the nice cashier.

I balk. “I can do this, thanks.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and I remember my phone call with Lucy. I huff and stomp into the changing room and he follows close behind.

He unbuttons my blouse and idly slips it off my arms, and I barely shrug out of it before he’s kissing me. Really kissing me, dipping his tongue in my mouth and wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling my body flush against his.

It takes a lot of willpower not to shove him away. My hands settle on his chest instead and I kiss him back, bending slightly backwards from how _intense _he is.

His fingers roam up to unhook my bra, which he manages to get off without breaking the kiss, and he drops it in the pile of new ones. I clench his shirt in my fists and kiss him back, trying to match his intensity, but it’s like making out with a horny teenage boy. It’s not bad, per se, it’s just not at all measured.

It stops as suddenly as it started, though he tugs my lower lip with his teeth as he withdraws. He picks up a red bra, motions for me to turn, and casually slides it up my arms. I blink at my reflection and almost wipe his saliva off my mouth, then think better of it.

Ben purses his lips. “Pretty. It fits, don’t you think?”

“Uh—” I nod a little fast. My lips are bright red now.

He takes it off and tries the other four, which all fit fine. I’m a B-cup or so, and it’s not hard finding bras that fit.

We return to the nice cashier. She seems to sense the tension, glancing between the two of us, but rings everything up and doesn’t say anything. There’s a mark on her palm. Ben stares at it and clenches his jaw, but thankfully he isn’t rude about it, and he silently pays her with a black credit card. I’m nosy. It’s an AMEX. I got an offer for the same one, so maybe he’s not lying about how much money he makes.

Surprisingly, he leads me into the mall, now full of people bustling around shopping and talking. I look like an asshole wearing one glove but thankfully it’s kind of hidden by being clenched in Ben’s gigantic hand.

My stomach growls with relief when he brings me to the food court. I’m not dumb enough to make a request and don’t complain when he pulls me along to the pizza place. Thank god. I need grease. I’ll leap the counter and drink it off the pizzas if I have to.

“I’m allergic to broccoli,” I say, because I’m not interested in anaphylactic shock.

“I know. You’re having plain, anyway.”

Fine. Whatever.

I eat my plain pizza, probably my reward for letting him make out with me. I can handle making out in exchange for food, especially if it’s delicious pizza. They glove is a problem, and he doesn’t react when I start tugging it off, so I take it off and fold it next to the tray. No one can see us in the corner.

Ben eats his with a fork and knife like a true psychopath. I stare at him for a bit, incredulous, then I can’t keep my mouth shut. It’s the worst thing he’s done so far. It’s an abomination.

“Pick it up.”

He keeps reading on his phone. “It’s greasy.”

“…Then why didn’t you buy a salad?”

“I dislike grease on my hands, but I don’t like salad.” He cuts another piece off like he’s telling me to go fuck myself. “The solution is to eat the pizza with cutlery—which you should’ve done.”

The grease is rolling down my wrists. It’s a fair enough assessment of my messy habits, but eating pizza with a fork and knife should be illegal. Los Angeles is a terrible place.

Ben chews and swallows. “You’re lively this afternoon.” His gaze flickers to my hands and he scowls, then takes a flat hand sanitizer out of his breast pocket. He tosses it across the table to me without a word.

I ignore it and wipe my hands with the napkins. I’m a little lively, I guess. It’s easier when we’re out in public and I’m not trapped in a room with no sheets and no clothes to wear, and he’s not aggressively putting makeup on me. Or tossing out thinly veiled threats with a knife.

“I’m looking forward to talking to Lucy.”

“Oh. I don’t think today is a good day for that.”

It’s like he dumps ice water over my head. I freeze in the middle of cleaning my hands and the mall noises become hollow around me, and anger creeps up into my stomach. I’m too happy. He’s punishing me now for being to chipper and bantering and showing slivers of my personality.

I slowly put down the napkin, staring off into space. I’m fucking furious and I know he knows, and he’s waiting to see what I do. He keeps cutting up his pizza and eating and pretending to ignore me. He’s not. He’s paying very close attention to what I’m doing.

Trembling, I swallow the lump in my throat. “That’s okay.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ben finishes his pizza and cleans his hands, meeting my gaze with his dark, empty one. He nods to the hand sanitizer. “Clean your hands and put your glove back on.”

“Was I supposed to eat with it _on_?”

He smiles, but it just makes my chest hurt. It’s blank and creepy and maybe a little smug, like he knew I’d fuck up.

“Clean your hands,” he repeats, slower, eyebrows raised, “and put your glove back on. We can go for two weeks without a phone call.”

The anger rages higher and comes out as tears instead of breaking his fucking face. My lower lip quivers and I wash my hands with the sanitizer, then pull the glove back over my mark, and look down at the table. People bustle around us, laughing and chatting, and no one seems half as miserable as me.

Ben collects my plate. He throws it away with his and comes back to sit beside me in the booth, one long arm across the back and the other on the table. He leans in to talk in my ear. His breath is minty, somehow.

“You’re going to go home quietly,” he murmurs, “go straight to your bedroom, and take off all of your clothes. You’re going to fold them neatly and leave them on the rocking chair.” His fingers brush my shoulder. I shiver and close my eyes, and he lowers his voice. “And you’re going to open your legs. I’ll decide what to do after that.”

Pure hatred I’ve never felt threatens to send the pizza back up my throat. I nod woodenly, glaring straight ahead into the crowd of people, and Ben kisses my cheek. I’m still crying, but it’s just angry tears now.

His mouth wanders lower, lips lazy on my neck. “I know. You can cry about it all you’d like. I don’t mind.” He comes back to whisper in my ear again like someone might overhear. “It may feel better if it’s warm. Body temperature. I don’t think microwaving semen will conceive a healthy baby—but what do you think, Three Million A Year?”

I think about Rose and Lucy and aim for feeling sad, not furious. Ben smiles against my skin before he moves away and helps me out of the booth.

People keep living their lives around me. My heels click, so I know I’m walking, but I float out of my head and inhabit a space somewhere above me. I can still feel Ben holding my hand like a fucking anchor.


	7. Panic is coming on strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m glad there’s a mysterious Facebook group sharing this fic lmao 
> 
> also:
> 
> i'm going to say the same thing i always do when i write thrillers and people bash the heroine for acting erratically: *fear makes people behave erratically.* that's how people drown when they know perfectly well how to swim, and why people forget what to do when they're attacked by bears. *fear makes the brain go haywire*
> 
> so please refrain from bashing the main character because she isn't the bastion of common sense and control. don't pick apart every action and reaction under a microscope and hold her to the standards of people who aren't totally terrified. it's great to try predicting what she'll do or where the plot is heading, but bashing her is neglecting that this is a thriller, not a crime procedural.

I’m quiet on the drive back to the house. Making a scene will only get me in trouble and serve to humiliate me in public. I’ve dealt with enough of that over the past few days to last me a lifetime.

Ben doesn’t say anything. He drives a little slower, which makes me think he’s more pissed off.

I have to play the long game, I know, but I don’t want him injecting his fucking semen in my body. The thought of it makes me ill. If I starve I won’t ovulate, and he’ll suffer too, and eventually he’ll have to feed me or give in to my demands.

We arrive back at the house. Nothing’s changed: same cars, quiet, and a big gate closes us in to the community. I glare out the window as Ben pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine.

“You have ten minutes.” He hands me the keys and opens his door. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

I get out on my own and click up to the front door. Ben opens the trunk and I let myself in, and head straight for the kitchen. I can’t just lock him out—the damn keypads control most of the house, and he’s the only one that knows how to use them.

First I rip off the heels and throw them across the room. I rip open the fridge and find the stash of basters, which is only three, and I squeeze them out in the kitchen sink. My heart pounds as I wash the contents down the drain, and I take the opportunity to hack the basters in half with the big knife.

I throw it in the drawer and throw away the basters. He’s going to take food first but that’s fine. I’ve been on crash diets and gone weeks only eating eggs, and he’ll feel the same pain the longer I starve.

I’ll never go to a camp, or let him impregnate me. I’ll get away and run to Canada, or let myself starve before any of that happens. I’ll stab myself in the stomach if that’s what it takes.

The trunk shuts outside. I storm upstairs to the second floor and try door handles along the way to see if any open. He can’t leave _everything _locked.

I rip off the glove and keep trying. They wiggle and don’t give in. I kick and scream and storm the other way towards Ben’s bedroom, which is open. It doesn’t matter where I go. If he’s going to attack me, he’ll do it in whatever room he wants.

Everything is neat and orderly. The carpet is beige, the walls are eggshell white, and his bed is made neatly, two pillows on each side. I flex my fists and look around for something of use—I don’t know what—and my eyes widen.

There’s a phone on the nightstand.

The front door closes downstairs. I scramble for the phone and call Lucy, because I know what to say to get her ass in gear, and she always answers.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Please pick up. Please pick up.”

It goes to voicemail. I swallow and look over my shoulder. There’s feet on the stairs, slow and unhurried, and I know he’s going to catch me on the phone. I don’t care. I need to send out a distress signal; I need to break out of this house.

“Luce—Lucy.” Trembling, I lower my voice, sinking to the floor. “It’s me. Rey. I… I need you to resume production. Okay? Find a way to keep making the suits. This can’t keep happening to people.” My voice cracks and I cry, because his footsteps are coming closer. “Please don’t give up. I’ll try to call again if I can—just don’t give up. I love you. Tell Rose I love her, too.”

The door groans open. I look up and see Ben there, smiling and touching the door with his fingertips. His jaw is tight, betraying how calm he looks.

I hang up the phone and hug it to my chest. If he goes to her house it doesn’t matter. Tom is a big guy. He can probably go toe-to-toe with Ben.

My soulmate prowls closer. “I see you’ve had a busy ten minutes. Lovely work in the kitchen.”

“Go to hell with your fucking dog!” I curl into a ball, hysterical and terrified, but still relieved I got a message out to someone. Finally. “You’re an evil son of a bitch—you’re fucking evil!”

“You’re rapidly working your way towards the basement, Rey. Would you like to relocate there?”

I wedge myself between the nightstand and the bed but Ben grabs my arm and drags me out. He drops to his knees, straddling me to rip the phone away, and he hurls it into the opposite wall. It smashes to pieces.

He catches my fist when I throw a punch and grabs my right wrist. I keep my hand fisted so he can’t expose the mark but he pins it and slowly forces his fingers through mine, bending my hand open painfully, and I scream at the top of my lungs.

Then the marks touch, and the scream dies in my throat.

I still struggle limply, whimpering as my eyes grow heavy. Ben shushes me and shifts his weight until he’s lying flat on top of me, breath on my neck. His hand clenches mine so hard that my fingers arch, but I barely feel the pain. I’m drugged again. Drunk.

He sighs. His lips brush my skin.

“Who did you call, dear?” Ben kisses my neck, slowly moving along my throat. He smells nice. “Hm? Who did you call?”

“Nobody,” I mumble. I writhe under his weight, swallowing hard. “Didn’t call nobody.”

“Did you call your lawyer? Or did you call your little friend?”

“Nobody.”

Ben tenses. He keeps squeezing my hand until I wail and kick my legs, but keeps me pinned, breathing evenly on my neck. He could’ve looked if he didn’t smash the phone. Fucking moron.

His voice is tighter. “Who did you call, Rey?”

“Nobody!” I slur. “I didn’t call _nobody_!”

“If a government official comes here to investigate—I will be _extremely _upset.” He presses his nose to my cheek, ignoring me wailing in pain. “So I’ll ask one more time: who did you call?”

I grit my teeth and laugh, breathless. “Your mom.”

Ben gets up, dragging me with him. He pulls me past the bedroom and downstairs, around the corner to the kitchen. I kick and beg him to stop but he rips open a door that leads straight down dusty steps to the basement.

“You can’t do this!” I shriek. I claw at his hand, trying to stop him from dragging me down the steps. “You can’t do this to me!”

He doesn’t answer. He picks me up around my middle and heads down into the darkness, flicking a light switch along the way. I hyperventilate so hard I see stars; I grab the railing along the stairs and he tears my hands away from it.

We come to the bottom floor that has something like a dog pen in the corner, fenced in with chain link. The floor is concrete and there’s a toilet in the corner. That’s it. No bed, not even a pad to lie on. It’s looks like a jail cell, not a dog pen.

For a split second I regret resisting—but I know it’s just part of the long game to get the fuck out of here. I can’t kill him. I have to subdue him.

Ben opens the door and dumps me inside. He shuts and locks it and turns away without a word.

“What’s an investigation?” I taunt, swaying to my feet. “Bet they won’t be happy if they come here and see you starving me and stocking turkey basters with cum in the fucking fridge!” He doesn’t answer, so I try another tactic. “Did you ever put Mia in here? I bet you did. I bet you kicked her and tortured her and they took her away.”

It works. He stiffens near the stairs, hand grasping the rail tight, then he turns around and stalks back to me.

I back away when he opens the door. If I can get around, I can lock him in and run for my fucking life. Ben doesn’t look me in the eyes as he enters the cell, and he silently grabs the front of my blouse.

He yanks it open and peels it off. I stumble over and fall on my ass and he follows, getting down to rip off my skirt and leave me in panties and a bra.

The basement echoes with the sound of our struggle, and me crying and demanding he stop. Ben ignores me and goes for the bra, pulling that off before the panties. I’m left naked and trembling and when I try lashing out he pins me to the floor by my throat. He opens his belt buckle and pants and I close my eyes.

Like in everything else, he’s quiet and clinical. I barely realize he’s masturbating before he takes a sharp breath and warm cum squirts across my chest and up to my chin. He takes a couple longer breaths and pauses when he’s done, still squeezing my throat.

I flail as he gathers some on two fingers and his knuckles brush my inner thighs. He abruptly forces the two fingers inside me, pushing up hard and deep, and I gasp in pain again. They’re obviously dripping with cum, which is the most revolting part about it. I sob and push blindly at his chest.

Ben shoves deeper. “Lie _still_.”

“Stop—stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry—” I’m not sorry. It’s better than letting him order me around, but it hurts, and it’s so degrading I could vomit. So is lying on my back and _letting _him inseminate me.

At least this way he has to own what he’s doing—and I don’t. I’m not complicit. I’m not lying back and obeying, even if that might hurt less on the outside, I think it would gradually poison me.

Ben slowly withdraws his fingers. He sticks them in his mouth and leans back to tuck his dick back in his pants, and doesn’t look at me once. He stands and goes to the door, and I roll to my side, struggling to sit up. I hide my face as he shuts the door and locks it.

“Now you will have to earn your privileges _back_, Rey.” His shoes click across the floor to the stairs. “I’ll come around tomorrow, maybe. Do what you will with that information.”

“I’m telling the investigator everything!” I shout hoarsely. “_Everything_!”

“Don’t drink the toilet water.”

The door opens and shuts and I’m left alone in total terrifying darkness. I shiver and crawl to the corner of the cell, curling up into a ball. It’s another form of prison, but for some reason, it’s not as bad as the one upstairs. I wouldn’t mind dying here instead.


	8. So cold, from the inside out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's a real prick

As I expected, Ben doesn’t come back for a long time. I’m left alone in the darkness, eventually unable to keep sleeping while I wait for him to come back. There’s no water, no light. I wilt.

But Lucy knows to keep making the body suits and that’s what really matters. She’ll do it. Tom isn’t a controlling soulmate like Ben—he’s definitely not a raging psychopath like Ben, either. He’ll let her do what she needs to do.

I lean my head against the concrete wall and keep my eyes closed. I’m thirsty and hungry but I’m not about to drink toilet water. Even if I get sick, he’ll just bring me back to the same hospital and they’ll happily send me back home with him. No one will help me escape.

I’ll have to claw and fight like I did to get my business off the ground; like I did to survive when I was a kid. I’m tired of fighting. I just want some reprieve.

Light cuts through the darkness. My eyes open and I wince as the fluorescents go on, blinding me for a minute: then I blink and see Ben at the bottom of the stairs. He’s dressed, hair hanging to his shoulders, black shoes clicking across the concrete.

I don’t say anything. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

He comes to the cage and opens a slot in the door to throw in a bottle of water. No food, but I expected that. I’ll die fast without water, but he can keep me just alive with food—and he’s used to not eating.

I crawl to the water bottle while Ben walks off to another part of the basement. My hands tremble as I open it and take a few small sips, because I might throw up if I drink too much too fast. I broke the seal on my own so I don’t _think _he’s drugged it.

He comes back with a dog bed and a blanket. The door to my cell opens but I don’t bother making a run for it. I sit there and cap my water while he arranges the bed and folds the blanket, both green, neatly on top. It doesn’t look like it’s been used. No fur. I hope he didn’t keep the dog in his basement.

“Was that Mia’s?” I croak.

Ben doesn’t even glance at me. He closes the cell door on his way out and walks back upstairs, plunging me into darkness again.

———

Things carry on like that for a while, but I can’t be sure how long. There’s no way to keep track in complete darkness.

Ben comes down and says nothing, but every once in a while he gives me some other comfort. I think it’s because I’m being quiet and not fighting back, so I keep doing that. First he leaves a small light on. Then it’s toilet paper, though not a full roll, extra water bottles, and he starts bringing clothes for me to change into everyday.

That’s how I keep track of the time. He brings the clothes in the morning, I figure. Seven days go by that way, plenty of water, no food.

On the seventh day of clothes, he brings something puréed in a travel cup. I’m about on the brink of eating my own skin to stave off the hunger, but it’s the only chip I have in the game. He must be eating less too, or I’d feel a little relief.

Ben stands there with his arms folded. He _does _look thinner. Maybe he’s not eating at all.

I study the pinkish mixture. “Is it drugged?”

“Why would I do that, dear?” His expression doesn’t change. “You know I don’t _want _to hurt you.”

I turn it over in my hands and glance up at him. Ben keeps staring at me, and I know I only have a minute to decide if I’ll eat. I should—but only very little. I’ll get too weak if I overtly hunger strike.

I keep eye contact. “What will you do if I refuse to eat at all?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I’ll do?”

“Nothing pleasant.”

Ben smiles a little. It’s a genuine one I’ve seen twice before, because he likes when I show some gumption. I’m not sure why he’s trying to torture it out of me.

“I had to postpone our dinner with the Damerons,” he says, oddly speaking of his own volition. He shrugs, eyes traveling the cage. “Until you can learn how to behave like an adult.”

“That’s too bad.”

There’s no bargain there. He wants me to be obedient and quiet—that’s what _he _wants. I’ll deny him of it until he offers a plea deal with reasonable accommodations, like not living in a dog pen in the basement. I’d take that.

I drink some of the purée, which tastes like shit, and hand him back the half empty bottle. Ben takes it without a word and leaves without a word.

The quiet resumes. I curl up on the dog bed under my blanket, gazing at the light across the room. All I have to do is keep holding out on him. He wants to show me to the neighbors first and foremost, well-groomed and obedient just like his dog.

More time passes. He’s quiet again, bringing water every day and purée once every three. I drink half each time and try doing push ups and sit ups to keep my muscles from wasting. Ben seems increasingly gaunt and irritated but doesn’t say anything.

It’s a battle of the wills. I’ve starved before and I’m not afraid of continuing to starve.

———

One day the door opens with two voices talking. I sit up as Ben descends the stairs with an orange-haired guy wearing a fancy military get-up, all decked out with badges and medals. He doesn’t look like he’s here for a friendly visit, and it doesn’t seem like he and Ben even like each other.

My soulmate looks especially tired and pissed off so they’re _definitely _not pals. They stop in front of the pen and the other guy peers in, gaze scanning the cell, kind of drifting over me. He types something out on an iPad and returns it under his arm. Is he an investigator?

“Consider this an act of generosity from the general,” the red-haired guy says. “These things aren’t _supposed _to be ignored.”

“I know, Hux.” Ben crosses his arms and glances at me. “I expect I’ll be given extra time to conceive? She’s spent most of her first month in the basement.”

I shake my head slowly. No… no. This guy is supposed to stop this from happening. He’s supposed to help.

Hux shrugs. “You’ll be held to the same expectations as every other bonded couple: reproduce or go to sleepaway camp.” He gives Ben an acidic smile, lips curling. “Maybe we’ll see each other there, Solo. I can give you some tips if you can’t perform.”

“I did this for _him_.” Ben keeps his expression blank, but taps his fingers on his bicep, jaw clenching harder. “Tell him we need to speak about this.”

“You did this entirely for yourself after the dog was taken. Fucking a woman is different than fucking a dog, you know.”

Ben straight out decks him. He punches him so hard that Hux goes straight down to the hard floor, cursing and rolling around and grabbing his nose. Blood streams down his gloved fingers as he glares at Ben and slowly gets back to his feet.

“You just assaulted a government official!” Hux snaps.

Ben takes a sharp step toward him, fists balled, and Hux shrinks back. I do, too. Yikes.

“Tell Snoke we need to _talk_.” He looms over Hux and lowers his voice. “Deliver the message, Major.”

Somehow Hux looks even more pissed off. He storms up the stairs and slams the door shut.

We’re both quiet for a long minute. Ben rubs his mouth and turns in a circle, hand on his hip. Somebody took the dog? Why’d they take the dog? Why’s he so attached to a fucking dog, anyway?

I hesitate before I speak.

“I’ll go upstairs for dinner if you let me have my bedroom again.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. I raise my eyebrows and stare at him. It’s the perfect time to strike with a plea deal. He’s hungry and emotional and I’m sick of living in a cage.

He wants to show me off like a show dog. That’s what he wants. He’ll jump on it.

Ben looks away. “You haven’t earned that privilege.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in _your _bedroom, and have dinner with those creepy neighbors, and _you _can do the makeup the way you want.” I lick my lips, heart racing. “Just let me go back upstairs.”

He’s quiet for another long, uncomfortable minute. Come on. He needs me to eat something or he’s going to end up starving to death, too. I can deal with having a dinner and sleeping in his stupid ass bed if he lets me out of the fucking basement.

“You’ll eat.”

“You have to _earn _that, Ben.”

This time he smiles when he looks at me. I don’t smile back.

He opens the cage door and snaps his fingers. I try not to scramble to my feet and my legs tremble when I manage to stand. Ben eyes me as I stumble to the door, but he grabs my arm when I almost fall on my face. His grip is as strong as ever.

He hasn’t tried using any turkey basters or shoved his fingers inside me again. I’m not sure why. Maybe he’s doing it deliberately—holding it over my head like a looming threat.

We walk upstairs and I wince from the sunlight coming through the windows. God, I never thought I’d miss the sun. It’s cool from the air conditioning and bright and a total relief to be back where I belong.

“You can have tonight to collect yourself,” Ben says. He leads me to the stairs and straight up to the second floor. “You’ll spend your time in the bedroom until you _earn _the right to do otherwise.”

Whatever. There’s a bed and a bathroom.

It’s the same as I remember, sans telephone. Ben lets me go and closes the curtains to the deck, but leaves the window open to let in a breeze. It’s not covered with bars but he knows by now that I’m not stupid enough to just run away.

I’ve been cleaning myself with water bottles so a shower is my first order of business. I’m sure he’ll allow that if we’re sleeping in the same bed.

I clear my throat. “Can I shower?”

He goes to the dresser and tosses a yellow sundress on the bed with white panties and a white bra. He’s keeping my clothes in his bedroom. Creepy.

“Yes.” Ben looks at me, eyebrows raised. “And shave, dear. Everything.”

Ugh. I hate men who expect me to look like a newborn baby. I’m sure _he _doesn’t shave his pubic hair or his armpits, but I have to be all smooth like I’m skimming a Slide ‘N Slide butt ass naked.

I chew inside my cheek. “Legs only.”

“No. All of it.”

“Fine. Don’t bother bringing me food this week.”

Ben shuts the drawer hard enough to make the dresser rattle. He smiles as he approaches me and seizes my upper arm hard in a huge hand. I glare up at him. Try me. I’ll keep starving.

“I have ways of making you eat, Rey. Feeding tubes. Shoving it down your throat.”

I snort. “You’ll feel pain from the feeding tube, too—and I’ll throw up if you force anything down my throat.” I narrow my eyes. “And I bite.”

Ben yanks me closer and grabs my hair, pulling hard so my neck bends back. He keeps smiling. He smells nice again, like clean laundry and pine.

“I know of a few things I can force between your legs instead,” he murmurs. His grip tightens, jaw clenching. I try not to wince. “And we can explore each option each time you choose not to eat.”

“You’re going to _rape _me if I don’t eat?”

He blinks innocently and shrugs. “Would you like to find out?”

I’m not about to call his bluff right now. He’s already shown he’s hesitant to do it but I’ll have to test the theory after I deliver on the no-drama dinner.

Ben lets me go and I take my shower. I scrub my hair and just stand under the warm water for a while, eyes closed. All the oil is washed off my face and I grudgingly shave my legs and armpits, but only trim my bikini line. I’m not crazy about getting to close to my labia with a cheap razor.

He’s not in the bedroom when I come out, and the door is closed. I dress in what he laid out and sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in my lap. Now what do I do? Sit here until he comes to force food on me? I have to keep up the hunger strike but I don’t think I can stand him… _doing _something.

Son of a bitch.

There’s not much to do except wait. I can only hold out on food, and only for so long. I’ll really waste away if I keep eating twice a week.

The sun sets and I stay sitting on the bed, waiting for him to come. I don’t change or move. This is a battle of the wills and I have to do whatever I can to make it a huge pain the ass for him, but I can’t give in, or refuse too much, because he likes bending me to break as much as he likes when I _do _break.

It’s fucking frustrating. Being as indifferent as he is—that might work. It worked in the basement.

The bedroom door opens and Ben steps inside. He shuts it, already taking off his watch to set on the dresser. No food.

“I don’t like being touched while I sleep.” He casually pulls his shirt off over his head and drops it in a hamper. I avert my eyes when he goes for his belt. “Stay on your side of the bed.”

“Really? You seem like a cuddler.”

Dammit. Can’t ignore an easy dig.

Ben flicks off the lights and crosses the room to me. He’s only wearing black briefs and they don’t leave much to the imagination. I look away from his bulge as he reaches around my back to unzip the dress. Jesus. I figured he’d have a small dick he’s compensating for.

I’m stripped of everything except my panties. He doesn’t offer pajamas and motions for me to stand so he can pull back the sheets. His warmth looms behind me, weirdly threatening in the semi darkness.

I laugh a little. “Will you like break my arm if I try touching you? What if I do it accidentally?”

He shoves me down between my shoulder blades, bending me over the bed at the waist. It knocks the breath out of me and I paw at the sheets, scrambling, terrified. I’m losing my cool all over again.

Ben grabs the back of my neck, and soon he’s panting softly. I hear the faint sound of him masturbating and it’s still weirdly quiet for a man. It’s not like anyone’s listening to him. It feels kind of like he doesn’t want to hear himself and I’m not sure what to make of it.

He gently squeezes. I don’t move, lying there helplessly and running through my options. If I resist he might throw me back down in the basement. I’m already weak from starving myself and one more puréed meal from blacking out. He’s got to be feeling the pain of it, too. I can see it in his eyes.

Has Ben even had sex? It’s hard to believe he has from how rigid and serious he is.

I’m turned over so he can come on my stomach again. He grabs my throat and shudders, groaning lightly in the dark. I grimace and twist my neck when the cum squirts way up near my chin, but Ben roughly turns me back in place, squeezing the sides of my throat.

It’s hard to breathe. My ears ring, and he’s done, but he keeps squeezing.

Fingers brush my belly. “If you’d rather not eat food, I can always feed you something else.”

Those fingers prod my lips, sticky and warm, and I kick my feet and try to push away. _Hell _no.

Ben settles for smearing my mouth with cum until I cry, then he gathers more to shove inside me. I keep my eyes shut and don’t open my mouth.

He’s a little gentler when he penetrates me, slipping his big hand in my panties. It’s two fingers again, slower than before, and he reaches a hand into mine to press our marks together. I squirm and pant hard through my nose and try to resist, but calm spreads through my muscles and my brain.

Ben smiles down at me. “Open your mouth.”

I don’t. I shake my head and heave a sob in my chest but don’t give him what he wants.

His fingers curl inside me. He strokes the spot that makes my eyes roll and I keep trying to get an anchor on him with my feet to push him off. My thighs tremble as he shifts closer, draping his big body across mine like he did when he caught me on the phone. How long ago was that?

He breathes in my hair, still gently fingering me, back and forth and stroking his fingertips across the front wall. I twist around and scream in my throat. He’s _suffocating _me. I can barely breathe under his weight.

“I know,” Ben whispers. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” He squeezes his hand on mine like a vice. “Open your mouth and eat and I’ll let you go.”

I try reaching up to wipe my mouth but my arms are too weak now. He kisses my jaw down to my throat and buries his face in the crook of my neck, sighing in a satisfied way. His fingers keep pumping lazily and my body responds to it with wetness that smears down to the knuckle when he penetrates deeper.

Ben whispers in my ear like a snake. “I can feel you getting close—in my blood and my bones and on my fingers. Every time you come I get a little piece of it, too.” He lowers his voice, deep and threatening. “So I’ll know if you’re pretending.”

I’m not pretending at all, and it’s fucking awful. I don’t want to give him anything but my body has other ideas, and I’m too weak and tired to fight back much. My lips tremble the closer I get.

I’ve never _not _wanted an orgasm. It’s impossible to make it stop and turn back the ramping tension, and the way my muscles shiver around his fingers every time they slide back inside me. I slap the bed and shake my head and breathe hard through my nose.

“Shh…” Ben’s breaths are a little faster now and somehow he found the spot I have to take days teaching most men. “Ah—that’s where you like it, hm?” He mouths my earlobe, rubbing insistently, and he huffs a satisfied sigh. “That’s the right spot.”

He can feel where I like it. Jesus Christ.

“Stop—” I taste him on my lips and try not to move my mouth. I cry a little harder. “Please stop.”

“But you’re so close, dear.” Ben sounds more ragged than when he masturbates. I get a sick feeling that he likes this more. “You’re so close.”

I’m gulping for air like a fish out of water. His lips roam across my neck, teething dragging on my skin, and I teeter over the edge.

It comes over me more intensely than usual, then it keeps spreading, down to my fingertips where our hands are joined. I bite my lip but it doesn’t work for long—my toes curl and I gasp and squirm and taste more of him in my mouth. The sensation keeps ebbing and washing back until it’s overwhelming.

My fingers tighten around Ben’s and I eagerly meet his fingers pumping in and out, like an animal possessed, at the mercy of the unnatural bond we have. I’m drunk again, only concerned with prolonging my orgasm that already has me writhing and gasping. It’s somehow _everywhere_.

It stops, leaving me with a strange empty cold feeling. I shiver and my teeth chatter as the pleasure fades and leaves me sleepy and sated underneath him. I want it back—I want to feel warm and relaxed.

Ben kisses my jaw as he withdraws his fingers. He leans back, standing between my thighs, slipping his two fingers in his mouth to suck them clean. I pant and stare at him as the bond fades. His palm cups my knee hooked on his hip.

My chest hurts. My throat is getting tight. I’m not going to cry.

He raises his eyebrows, fingers popping free of his mouth. He’s as smug and satisfied as ever. Almost naked, his body somehow looks _bigger_, and he’s pale and muscular and broad. He hasn’t been losing weight as fast as I have.

“Don’t give me that look,” he taunts, lowering his voice. He leans over me, hands beside my head, and my lower lip quivers. “I know just how much you enjoyed that, Rey. No need to be shy about it.”

“Fuck you.”

Ben smiles, kisses my forehead, and walks to the bathroom. Shaking, I sit up on the edge of the bed and hurriedly wipe his cum off my mouth. I feel fucking vile. I’m cold and miserable and still have cum all over my stomach, and I’m wet from _him_.

He comes back with a wet cloth. I let him wash off my mouth and my torso, working down to my stomach, then he tosses the cloth in the hamper. He probably doesn’t want his cum all over the sheets

Ben walks around to the other side of the bed. “You may call your little friend tomorrow if you’d like. Lucy? I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

My heart leaps in my throat. I swallow and nod but don’t look over my shoulder at him. Holy shit.

I’m fucking lost. If I don’t eat he’ll do… this, but if I do this he lets me have phone calls? Is he trying to make me comply with _this_? He doesn’t seem that adverse to using sexual assault as a weapon, but I guess he’s been holding off for the most part.

I’m freezing so I get under the thick comforter and lie on my back. Ben is turned away from me.

I hesitate. “If I eat, you won’t do this?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

Jesus Christ. I grit my teeth.

“I think if I eat or don’t eat, you’ll do this anyway, and if I don’t fight back you’ll give me what I want.” I glance at his head resting on a pillow. “You still have nothing to hold over my head if I hunger strike.”

“Other than a slow and painful death, I suppose not.”

We lapse into silence. I chew my lower lip, thinking. This is going to happen no matter what. Even if I eat he’ll still do it, and he doesn’t want me to resist. So if I resist _and _keep starving myself, that’s going to drive him fucking nuts. He can’t keep me in a basement forever if he wants me to get pregnant and I have to be eating well for that to happen.

This is so fucking confusing. I still can’t follow what he wants or his thought process. This would be a lot easier if I understood him even a little.

“Well—I suppose there’s _one _thing I can hold over your head.”

I blink and look over. Ben doesn’t move or speak. The silence returns and he doesn’t offer anything else.

I turn away from him and close my eyes. I’m too tired to think of the awful possibilities. I’m out of the dark basement with a shower and a real bed. Now I can work on getting my strength back and getting the hell out of here—starting with a phone call to Lucy. 


	9. No great job, no message coming in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact Tess of the d’ouchebagvilles is my least favorite book

Hell is real. I’m woken up at the ass crack of dawn when it’s still dreary blue and purple outside, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Ben brushes my cheek with his fingertips and smiles. He’s already dressed, of fucking course, bright eyed and bushy-tailed for another day of tormenting the shit out of me. It’s always a dress shirt, a belt, and slacks. Every time. Doesn’t he have a T-shirt?

I groan, rolling over on my back. “What time is it?”

“Six, my dear. Time to begin the day.”

He yanks back the comforter. A rush of cold morning air makes me squeal and try rolling into a ball but Ben is very quickly on top of me, between my thighs, ripping my panties down to my ankles. He pins me to the bed by my throat and I worry more about clawing his hand off than anything else.

“Shh… shh…” His grip tightens. Cold plastic strokes across my inner thigh, the tapered tip of the turkey baster, and my eyes widen. “Let’s not ruin this beautiful day so soon.”

The tip drags down to my groin. I grab his wrist with both hands and try to scream but can’t do much except a raspy gasp. Ben stares down at me as he glides from my groin down the side of my mound, then up again along my slit.

He licks his lips and a little cum slithers from the tip, smearing on my clit. My hips arch as I kick my legs and scream and reach for his smug face instead, but Ben pushes hard on my throat and I see stars.

The baster trails slowly downward, pressing through my lips, grazing sensitive thin skin. He keeps watching my face and his expression changes with mine, mirroring fear to anger to fear again. He smiles, laughing lightly as he gently presses the tip inside me.

I writhe, hyperventilating. It’s cold and stiff and he bobs it back and forth a few times before I realize he’s fucking me with it to add insult to injury.

“Don’t make a fuss, Rey,” Ben murmurs. He leans over to whisper in my ear, shifting his grip up higher to my jaw. “When you come, I come.”

Well then I’m not fucking doing _that_. I huff a couple hard breaths through my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to ignore being raped with a fucking kitchen utensil. Ben sighs and kisses along my cheeks, down to my neck, where he nuzzles and hums.

He suddenly grabs my hand in his, forcing our marks together but freeing my throat.

I splutter and cough as I try to catch my breath. Warmth crawls up my arm to my chest and worms through the rest of my body, straight down to where he’s gently sliding the baster in and out. It tingles and I squirm and clench my jaw and resist the powerful urge to _just relax._

“Just relax.” Ben takes a brief intermission from the baster to rub his thumb in a slow circle around my clit, still sticky with cum. He stifles another violent jerk from me and tenderly kisses my neck. “Ah, ah—you’ll be able to come soon, dear. No need to be so impatient.”

I quiver and groan as the warmth washes over my mind like a suffocating wave. I’m helpless and limp and I can’t push his hand off mine. What happens if I burn the fucking mark _off_? Is this canceled out?

All I can do is pant and roll my hips into his touch and do my best not to look into his eyes. Ben strokes the side of my thumb with his, clearly trying to force me to stay in the moment, but if I try really hard I can disengage and float away. _Really _hard.

Burning my palm is more and more attractive. Then he can’t do this shit to me.

Heat curls in my lower belly as the time crawls by. I moan and keep limply moving my legs around his hips but the evil, unnatural bond still drags me where I don’t want to go.

Ben shudders, resting his forehead on mine and still rolling his thumb around my clit. A deep groan rumbles up from his chest, weirdly kind of hot, and he kisses me hard when I finally come. My legs draw up and squeeze around his hips and all the sounds I make are lost in his lips and his mouth.

He paws down for the baster when I slow and pushes it inside me up to the plunger. His thumb comes down and I feel uncomfortable warm in stark contrast to the odd cool sensation of the baster. He must have literally _just _filled it before coming in the bedroom.

Ben groans and jerks forward, kissing and biting the arch of my jaw as he empties his cum inside me. He pauses and huffs a sharp breath on my cheek while I blink hard and wish I could punch him in the throat.

The baster gently withdraws and he throws it across the room. He leans up on his knees, drawing my hand with his, and runs a hand through his messy black hair. He’s satisfied with himself. His broad chest heaves with every breath and he’s smiling like he won. He did, I guess.

“Now…” Ben keeps his dark eyes on me and doesn’t waver as he unbuckles his belt with his free hand. “It’s time for breakfast.”

My eyes practically pop out of my skull. I swallow and manage to shake my head, but I’m still drunk from his touch, so I can only lie there and whimper. Maybe the hunger strike won’t last as long as I thought.

He cocks his head, brow furrowed. “No? You’re _not _hungry?”

The belt hisses from the loops and he manages to get it around my neck and pull it taut. He wraps it around his wrist and yanks hard, forcing me to sit upright or be choked. I cough and dig my nails into his knuckles. Holy _shit_—shit, shit, _shit_—

Ben gives the belt a light pull. It tightens, strangling me nearly to unconsciousness, forcing a desperate gasp from my lips. I paw at his thigh.

He switches his grip on my hand so he’s holding my wrist and I’m holding his, still pressing the marks together. The belt loosens and I sway and blink rapidly—and he cups the back of my head.

“Good girls serve themselves, Rey.” He gives a slight push forward toward his crotch. “So feel free.”

I shake my head and push against his lower belly and the trail of hair down into his pants.

“No—no—I’ll eat. I’ll eat.”

“Hm? I thought you had your little hunger strike all figured out. No contingency plan?”

Ben casually reaches into his pants. I blink and his cock is there, hard and close to my mouth, and he’s slowly stroking it from the base the tip. He yanks my wrist when I try falling back to the pillows, and I scream and kick and twist away.

He seizes my cheeks in his hand and raises his eyebrows. Now I’m crying because I’m between starving myself and sucking his fucking _dick_, and he’ll just choke me at the first sign of biting. I can’t even chomp it off and wait for him to bleed the fuck out because I’ll die, too.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Think of all the protein—and it’s nice and thick like those slurries you’ve enjoyed so much.”

I’m so hysterical I can’t breathe straight. My breaths come too fast and shallow and I feel the paleness leeching into my lips. I’m going to faint.

Ben seems to realize it at the same time I do. His dark eyes search mine and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I have no use for you if you’re unconscious,” he snaps.

He shoves me into the pillows, releasing my hand, and his face comes close enough to mine that I see flecks of green in his irises. I’m free of the inebriation but terrified of the look on his face so I don’t move.

“You’re going to get me off, and I’m going to watch you stuff my cum in your cunt.” Ben edges closer, nose in my hair. “Or I’m going to cram my cock so far down your throat that you won’t taste anything else for weeks. So begin. Now.”

First I reach down a shaky hand and he snaps at me to use saliva. I lick my palm and swallow hard as I slip between us to grasp him gently, mildly terrified I’ll do something wrong and he’ll fuck my mouth anyway.

Ben kisses the side of my head, hips shifting. He huffs as I slide up along the shaft and back down. It’s big. And hot. And I can trace my thumb along a vein underneath that runs halfway up, and rub the bundle of nerves under the head. It way better than a blow job that ends in swallowing.

He gropes for the nightstand and leans over to take something out. My thumb rubs the same soft spot and Ben shudders and goes still. His hips roll lightly back into my touch, and I’m a little… lost. It’s just a hand job. Why’s he so sensitive?

A bottle of lube pushes into my hand. Ben kisses my temple and the shell of my ear while I pop the top and drizzle some on my hand. He leans down on a forearm when I reach down and curl my fingers around his length again. There’s less friction, and now he’s actually thrusting into my hand.

It’s fucking bizarre. It brings back memories of jerking off my high school boyfriend, which didn’t take long, and fumbling around in his bed dry humping the hell out of each other. It’s… weird.

I narrow my eyes. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s not going to force his dick anywhere inside my body.

Ben groans softly. His marked hand grasps mine and squeezes and my grip slackens as heat prickles through my nerves. Fuck.

“I know,” he breathes. His mouth roams across my neck; he inches forward and the head of his cock brushes my belly. He swallows so hard I can hear it loud and clear in my head ear. “Keep going. I want to come on your belly.”

“‘M tired.” I limply move my wrist but can’t keep a grip on him.

“Are you?”

Ben reaches between us and my hand falls away to my side. Small tingles run up the back of my neck as he sets to masturbating over me, panting in my hair, then kissing me gently on the lips. The tingling trickles down my stomach and I frown while I’m kidding him, confused for a minute.

Then I realize _he’s _going to come but we’re _both _going to feel it.

He stiffens, big body shuddering and shifting over me. I blink and bite my lower lip at the weird, unwanted sensation of what it feels like for him; strange tension in my lower back around to the front. The tension just grows and grows and I shake my head away from our kiss. Jesus Christ it’s uncomfortable.

Ben slows his strokes. I wince when he stops completely and the tension just hangs there, borderline painful. He slowly kisses my shoulder and his hips settle deeper between my thighs.

“How does that feel?” he asks, voice hoarse. His thumb must move up because I feel another pulse of relief before it fades. “Do you want me to come?”

“No!” I snap. My eyes roll back and I fist the sheets, grimacing. “No.”

“Are you _sure_? We’re both going to be very uncomfortable if I don’t.” Ben rubs the head of his cock on the soft bump of skin under my belly button. “Blood doesn’t so easily reroute for men.”

He carries on torturing himself and me concurrently. I’m not big into edging and never was and it feels even worse for a man, apparently. Blood keeps gathering and doesn’t ebb away; it just keeps thickening his cock and tightening his muscles. It’s fucking uncomfortable and miserable.

I grit my teeth. As soon as he stops touching my hand the sensation will go away.

Ben sighs and slips away a minute or two later. He drags his nails down my ribs and licks his lips as he adjusts his pants, somehow concealing his erection. His dark eyes look glassy and hungry.

The tension doesn’t fade. I sit up and pretend it’s not bothering me but I can feel it in the same spots like a twisted muscle that needs to be massaged out. I’ve had plenty of times where I didn’t come but the urge would usually pass a few minutes later. This just hurt.

He takes his belt from my throat. “Come along, dear. You’ll need a good breakfast before we start preparing for our dinner this evening.”

I nod, afraid I’ll groan if I open my mouth. Ben smirks as he buckles his belt and climbs out of bed.

We walk downstairs, to the kitchen I haven’t seen in weeks, and I see he already has food made. Contingency. What I don’t have.

I sit at the island and bite inside my cheek to keep from hissing. Ben walks past me to the cabinets for a glass and fills it with water. He sets it next to my plate: scrambled eggs and toast. I shouldn’t eat anything heavier until I’m used to solid food again.

It’s chilly, and I don’t have much body fat to keep me warm. I shiver and pick up my fork, handing trembling so hard it wavers in my fingers. I’m hungry and cold and _pent up_. How the fuck is he ignoring that?

Ben leans on the counter across from me and folds his arms. “Poe and Kaydel will arrive around six. If you behave you may call your friend.”

“Fine.” I spear some eggs and take a hesitant bite. It makes me nauseous. “I can’t eat a lot of this.”

“That’s fine. If you vomit you’ll eat it again.”

Not if I can vomit and flush it down the toilet before he sees. He can’t watch me twenty-four hours a day.

It’s difficult eating solid food again and I give up halfway through. Ben disposes of the rest and snaps his fingers, motioning for me to follow him out to the living room. I slide off the chair and grit my teeth. Now the tension has settled into my lower belly, cramping. Fuck.

He points to the couch. “Sit. You can read for the morning. This afternoon we’ll go for a walk, and you’ll shower and be ready by five-thirty at the latest.”

I sit. Ben picks something old off the bookshelf—_Tess of the d'Urbervilles_—and I can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously?” I open the front cover and keep laughing. “_You _are giving _me _a book to read that challenges outdated oppressive sexuality?”

“I have _War and Peace _if that’s more your speed.”

I shake my head, flipping to the first page.

“I don’t care. I guess the rape in the first phase is fitting. And you have a lot in common with Alec.”

“Do I?”

“Well you’re not Mister fucking Darcy, that’s for sure.” I flip past the foreword. “Or Rochester, or even Heathcliff. At least Heathcliff gave a shit.”

I’m expecting him to be pissed but Ben just breaks into another genuine smile. He kisses the top of my head and walks off toward the stairs. Good. At least we’re on the same page about him absolutely not being a Byronic hero.

“I’m going out for a run,” he calls. “Afterwards I’ll be in the gym for most of the morning, out in the garage. Be dressed appropriately for our walk by noon—we’ll start dinner together around two.”

I wave him off. “Whatever.”

I’m not in the mood to cook or exercise. The most infuriating thing about him has to be how regimented and motivated he is, like some kind of asshole. Who does cardio _and _weight training on the same day? No one. Just evil assholes.

———

_Tess _is still the dreary chore to read it was in college. I doze off within an hour for an hour, then check the bookshelf for something slightly more stimulating, then just give up and curl up for a nap.

Ben is still out for his _run _when I lie down and wrap myself up in a soft beige blanket. I yawn and shiver. The food is settling okay in my stomach so far, and I know I’m in no danger of getting pregnant quite yet. That’s comforting.

I have to get out of here before that happens. How? I’m not sure yet. If I starve myself long enough his body won’t be able to keep up, and he’ll get sicker and weaker. Tolerating the forced insemination is just… necessary.

Still, he’s a man, and will keep more muscle mass than me as we both waste away. Maybe he’ll come down with something—pneumonia. That’ll have him bedridden. Starvation weakens the immune system and he has less body fat than me already. It’s like a dust mote in a super computer.

Poisoning the food may not work, either. He makes me eat the same thing he does, so even if I taint an ingredient, I’ll end up ingesting it, too. Though if we’re _both _sick, he’s going to have a hard time shoving turkey basters up my vagina.

I frown, glancing toward the kitchen. Maybe I should wait until he shows more signs of weakness. He’s still working out while I’m couch-ridden and shivering in the air conditioning. I can’t really afford to get sick.

The front door opens. I blink and turn to look, like I shouldn’t be expecting Ben. The discomfort from this morning is gone so his dumb plan only kind of worked. I have a better appreciation of blue balls, though. Ouch.

He’s already taking out wireless ear buds, pushing off red sneakers. He leans on the door to shut it and raises his eyebrows when he sees me lying down.

“Napping during the day is bad for your circadian rhythm,” he says, like an asshole. His shirt is damp with sweat and he casually pulls it over his head and I _quickly _look away. “Would you like me to find something else you can occupy yourself with?”

“I weigh like ninety pounds now; excuse me for being a little drowsy. How was your two hour run? How do you run for two hours?”

Ben crosses the room, picking up _Tess _along the way to put it back in the right place on the bookshelf. I glance at him and see his back is still muscular, maybe more toned now, but his ribs are just barely visible. Good. Suffer you son of a bitch.

I’m not so sure that he’s losing weight with me, but he’s at least feeling the pain of it. Stubborn jackass he is, he’s probably cutting back just to spite me and make my hunger even worse. Evil fuck.

“I was a bit frustrated.” He runs a hand through his black hair to pull it out of a tie, turning to face me. I do my best to keep a poker face and not stare at his ridiculously sweaty large chest. “But I didn’t want to deny you the opportunity to suffer with me.”

“Nice. Very generous of you.”

He laughs, rubbing his fucking abs absentmindedly like he doesn’t realize they’re there, dark eyes roaming along the ceiling. He’s such a douchebag. I’m not going to ogle him like he wants.

“More than happy to oblige,” Ben replies. He snaps and points at the stairs like I’m a dog. “You can sleep in the bed.”

“…What’s the difference?”

“Sick five year olds nap on couches. You can go to our bedroom and nap for twenty minutes while I shower.”

“Isn’t this your second shower today? If you take another one later you’re going to dry out that mop you call hair.”

He rips the blanket away and points again. He’s not smiling anymore.

I wobble to my feet, almost falling over on my face in the process, but Ben grabs my wrist. I come just short and catching myself on his pecs and awkwardly grab my own forearm to keep my balance. His lips press together like he’s trying not to smile.

“What?!” I snap.

“You’re starved half to death and still a stubborn little thing.” He turns me around and urges me forward with a gentle push to the small of my back. “I like stubborn little things.”

I snort. “So do cats. You should see how they bat mice around before they kill them.”

Ben hovers a step behind me on our way to the stairs. He keeps a hand on my back as I slowly make my way up them, frustrated by my trembling legs.

“I wouldn’t bat you around if you behaved,” he murmurs.

“Yes you would. That’s your favorite part.”

He doesn’t reply.

Down the hall he helps me into bed. I glare at his back and _not _his ass as he picks clean clothes and goes into the bathroom. Then I maybe glance at his ass before he disappears in the bathroom, which is normally an ass I’d like to sink my nails into.

I turn over and try to relax for my strict twenty minute nap. He’ll wake me up the _second _it’s been twenty minutes. He’s a fucking terror.


	10. And you're so small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a little emotional writing this ngl i'm so weak for emotionally constipated men

“What the fuck is _that _supposed to mean?”

My eyes flutter open at the sound of Ben snapping at someone. I frown, stretching a little, listening to him pacing angrily somewhere behind me. This is a good time to pretend to be asleep. I could get some intel out of this.

I close my eyes again. Someone is yacking back at him and I hear the distinct sound of him running his palm down his face, beard scratching the skin. He’s _pissed_. It seems like nothing and no one can piss him off but he’s most definitely pissed, and it’s not directed towards me.

“It’s not enough time,” Ben snaps. He talks over someone. “She’s grossly underweight—I did this for him.” Then he pauses, and lowers his voice. “I already told him I’m not doing that. There’s a big fucking difference.”

Hm. He’s quiet while the other person talks and I try to hazard out what they’re discussing. Me, probably. Something something ‘big fucking difference.’ Sounds like he’s explaining the turkey baster shenanigans to that creepy guy with the orange hair. I already know he’s adverse to rape—even though what he’s done is just as horrid.

He’s softer when he speaks again, which is ten times scarier. I do my best to look asleep.

“If you come to my home in five months, Hux, and try to remove me from it…” His voice gets lower. “I will fucking _kill _you.”

Ben hangs up and tosses the phone on the bed. Two seconds later he squeezes my upper arm and gives me a rough shake so I make a show of pretending he woke me up out of a dead sleep.

I groan, rolling on my stomach. “Five more minutes.”

“No. We have dinner to cook and a walk to take before I get you ready for dinner.”

“A walk? You think I’m going to be able to go for a _walk_?”

He’s looking at me when I turn on my back again, dark eyes inscrutable. If I can barely make it up the stairs I definitely won’t survive a jaunt around the block, no matter how much he wants me to.

Ben growls and turns away. “Fine.” He slips a watch around his wrist and pushes back his gray sweater’s sleeves. Sweater in summer; interesting choice. “Stay here and sleep.”

Yes, _thank you_.

I nestle into the warm sheets again and grimace when Ben kisses my forehead before he leaves. His cologne smells nice and there’s a hint of that clean shampoo scent underneath, two things I usually like. But I shudder after he leaves the room, still fiddling with his watch, and he shuts the door behind him.

They must be pressuring him to deliver on the babies like everyone else does. I’m certainly not interested in going to a camp to be forced to breed like a dog.

There’s still time, though. I close my eyes, thoughts drifting back to Lucy. There’s still time for me to escape.

———

Ben wakes me when the sun is setting. I’m better rested now and obediently get out of bed when he beckons me with one long finger. Time to pretend I don’t hate him with every fiber of my being.

He leads me to the bathroom with drawers of makeup I don’t know how to use. I sit in the chair, silent, watching him turn on the water and squirt face wash in his hands. Everything is already laid out: foundation, lipstick, eyeliner; the whole nine yards. I’m going to break out like crazy.

Apparently I’m not allowed to wash my own face, either. He turns the chair and sits in his own as he cups my cheeks in both hands and massages the wash into my skin, from forehead across my nose. I keep my eyes closed, only moving when he tells me to rinse it off.

Ben sits right in front of me. His legs spread around mine as he leans in with the foundation and I instinctively lean back into my chair.

He rolls his eyes and yanks my chair closer by the seat between my legs. It’s only make up he’s putting on but I tremble from our proximity and the warmth from his body, flinching when he touches my skin. That pleasant masculine cologne hangs around him.

“Stay still,” he says softly, more threatening than comforting. He puts something wet on my forehead and it takes his attention. “Don’t you want to look nice for our dinner?”

No. I keep my mouth shut.

Ben methodically works his way through the different pieces of makeup. It takes long enough that my back starts aching, maybe because he keeps leaning back and squinting to examine his work, then sighs and wipes some off with his thumb. I’m surprised by it because he executed flawless application the last time with very little correction.

He keeps going, not showing any signs of frustration, but slowly growing more and more picky with how it looks. I wait. I don’t say anything when he wipes the lipstick off my mouth for the third time and tries the third different shade.

Then he leans back once more. He narrows his eyes and his phone rings, which he answers without looking away from me.

“Solo,” he says. Someone talks. “Yes, we’re almost ready. Fifteen minutes or so.” Ben nods and studies me. “Yes, looking forward to it.”

Fifteen minutes? Holy shit, he’s been at this for almost _two hours_.

Ben hangs up and stands, slipping his phone in his front pocket. His face doesn’t give anything away as he strides past me, out the bathroom door, and I hear his shoes on the stairs. I slowly turn in my chair to listen and stiffen when I hear the front door open. Where…?

It shuts.

Before I can process what’s happening, I hear the dull roar of his Mercedes and the tires rolling quietly out of the driveway. The engine fades away in a minute or so and the house descends into eerie silence.

I sit there without moving for a full five minutes. Shit.

Scrambling, I wipe off all the makeup to start from scratch; makeup I have to get perfect in the ten minutes I have left before the dinner guests get here. My heart pounds, hands trembling as I go through the same motions as Ben, from foundation to lipstick to eyeshadow. Holy shit. Why did he just leave?

It looks okay when I’m done and it will have to do, because I still need to find and put on my dress. Did he put out the food? Set the table? Holy shit—holy shit. If I fuck this up he’s going to fucking kill me.

I race to the closet and find a black dress hanging up with a bag over it. It’s two sizes smaller than usual, probably to account for my weight loss, and I hurriedly slip into it and struggle with the zipper. It comes down just past my knees. There’s black heels with a red bottom on the floor.

The door bell rings as I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I curse and draw it back into a ponytail with fringes to make it look fancier, then hurry downstairs to greet the Damerons.

Ben has the table set already. I peer into the kitchen and see he has pork tenderloin in the oven keeping warm, scalloped potatoes, some mixed vegetables, and a couple other smaller dishes. There’s a loaf of French bread out on the island. I find appetizers, like bacon-wrapped dates and crudités, in the fridge.

But the doorbell rings again, so I have to answer it. I try to catch my breath and smooth down my dress as I wobble over. I’m not the confident businesswoman I was a month ago. The heels feel too high; the dress too tight. I’m in a cage.

Poe and Kaydel smile when I open the door. They’re dressed up the same as me, Kaydel in a lovely pink dress and Poe in a clean collared shirt like the ones Ben wears. Kaydel offers me a bottle of wine and I gasp and thank her and read the label: it’s from 1805. Holy shit.

“So nice to meet you, Rey,” Kaydel says as she walks in. She hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Ben has been chattering nonstop about you to Poe.”

“Sure has.” Poe winks and points to her. It’s the soulmate bond, baby. Got me when we met.”

My heart skips a beat. Kaydel is wearing a glove. I forgot to put one on.

She laughs as I shut the front door. What if Poe tells Ben I was walking around without being covered up? Shit. Son of a bitch.

“Please go make yourselves comfortable in the living room,” I offer, trying to smile. “I’m going to get the hors d’oeuvres ready.”

Poe turns in a circle, frowning. “Where is Solo, anyway? Run out for something?”

Shit. I make a lame excuse that he should be back soon and scuttle to the kitchen when the two seem satisfied. I’m fucking drowning here.

I grab three wine glasses and pop the cork on the bottle from Kaydel. My hands shake as I pour out a normal adult drinking amount and go for the appetizers in the fridge. He has a couple things ready and I bring them all out in rounds.

Poe takes Kaydel’s wine glass from her. I sit in the chair beside the couch and hesitate.

He smiles. “I don’t think you need any wine tonight, dear. Since we’re still trying.”

I glance at Kaydel. She keeps smiling at him but I can see small cracks in the façade. She hates her soulmate, too. Does everyone hate their soulmate?

“Of course,” she murmurs. She leans back and clasps her hands in her lap. “This looks delicious, Rey. Have you had much opportunity to cook since you’ve moved in? Our neighborhood has a monthly outing to this delightful outdoor cooking class in the city.”

Poe picks out a couple things and places them on a plate for Kaydel. She doesn’t miss a beat when he hands it to her, and she even thanks him.

It makes my blood boil.

“That sounds nice,” I reply. “It would be nice to get some sunshine.”

“Ben must not be able to keep his hands off you.” Poe laughs and glances at his wife. She’s nibbling a carrot. “Remember our first month?” He leans closer, planting a kiss on her shoulder. “Our first time?”

I change the subject. “I’ve lost so much excess weight from Ben’s fabulous cooking. It’s time for me to learn for myself, isn’t it?”

That leads into a boring conversation about cooking. Kaydel tells me she’ll bring me recipes that I don’t care about. I just smile and nod. I’m sure Poe will report any discrepancies back to Ben, including the glove I’m not wearing. I need to put that on. Now.

I excuse myself after appetizers to steal upstairs and do just that. There are a couple gloves in the top dresser drawer, all skin tight and in different colors, which is incredibly creepy.

The Damerons are waiting in the living room when I come back down. I invite them into the dining room and they compliment the table—where Ben _again _used the stuff from my fucking house. After they sit I rush out to the kitchen, clicking away in my heels, and get the tenderloin and other dishes out of the oven.

Poe looks confused when I come back with their plates. Kaydel thanks me for hers. Her makeup is absolutely flawless and she’s so _thin_. Her arms are toned and tan and not a hair is out of place. It’s like looking at a robot.

“Solo say where he was headed?” Poe asks as I take a seat.

“Ah… no.” I take a big gulp of wine and try to laugh, shrugging. “He’s been so mysterious!”

Kaydel gasps and touches Poe’s arm with her gloved hand. I keep drinking.

“I bet he’s distracted with a present for Rey!” she says. “Something shiny that just came in, and he wants to surprise her tonight.” She glances at me and I see a weird look in her eyes. “Don’t you think, Rey?”

I cough, nodding. “Yeah. Yup. So thoughtful.”

“Hm.” Poe brushes his upper lip with his index finger and turns to his food. “Unfortunate he’ll miss dinner. It looks delicious, Rey.”

We eat. It’s all great, but I already knew it would be. I do my best to down what I can into my very weak stomach while Kaydel talks about cooking classes and her new interest in cross stitching. Poe smiles.

She sips her wine. “It’s such fun. I’ve already learned how to sew and knit at the request of my love, and I like to keep up on new talents for him.”

God. I nod and down another glass of wine.

Poe frowns. He leans over to touch her lips, and I notice a stain on the glass.

“Oh,” he says. His smile comes back, tighter. “You didn’t wear the long stay.”

Kaydel’s eyes widen infinitesimally. She brushes her lips and glances at the offending glass. I can see the fear spreading across her face and know: Poe is just as evil and shitty as Ben.

“Goodness.” She tries to laugh but stops at Poe’s dark glare. “So sorry, Rey. I’ll clean that up.”

“It’s okay,” I say, hurriedly. “I can clean it. No big deal!”

Poe shakes his head, still staring at Kaydel and smiling. She’s slowly losing her cool.

“No.” He pushes her chair out and stands. “I think it’s time for us to go home. Kaydel seems ill and I’d like to have a dinner with the four of us. Thank you very much for hosting us, Rey. Such a lovely dinner.”

The tension is palpable. Kaydel slowly gets to her feet, eyes blank, and follows her husband out of the dining room. The front door opens and shuts so hard that it rattles the picture of Mia on the wall.

I’m left alone with half-eaten food. I stare where they were both just sitting and flop back in my chair.

Eventually I get the willpower to clean things up. I put away the leftovers and clean my own dishes, making sure everything is right where it’s supposed to be. Kaydel weighs heavy on my heart. One little lipstick stain and Poe was mad enough to end dinner. I can’t imagine what he’s like at home.

It’s dark by the time I’m done. I wipe my hands, staring out the kitchen window. Poor Kaydel. She tried to throw me a bone so maybe she isn’t really brainwashed, just obeying orders.

The growl of an engine rouses my attention. He’s here.

Stiffening, I put away the towel and rush out to meet Ben at the door. It’s better not to hide. He’ll probably want to approve how I looked during dinner and maybe I can head off anything Poe tells him.

I smooth my hands down the front of my dress and clear my throat. Heavy footfalls come up the porch, mingled with muttering and jangling keys. My pulse quickens. I’ll be fine. I did okay, even though I floundered in his absence, but I did okay.

The key crunches in the lock. Sweat beads on my palms as he shoves the door open and comes stumbling inside.

Fear turns into terror at the smell of alcohol following Ben into the house. He squints at me through the darkness and bursts out laughing as he shuts the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt. I glare at him, trembling, trying not to let my anxiety show.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. His dark eyes are glassy and unfocused. “Don’t you look _nice_.”

“I had your stupid fucking dinner and you go out and drink? Why? Because of my makeup?”

Ben tries throwing his keys in the basket on the side table but misses completely. He ignores it, rubbing his mouth and stalking towards me. I click back a couple faster steps.

“You look… _very _nice,” he repeats. He licks his lips, eyes trailing down my dress and back up to my face. “Why don’t you—” He staggers but laughs at it, still following me, drawing a hand on the wall. “Why don’t you suck my cock with those pretty red lips?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

It’s a bad answer but I don’t care at the moment. Drunk men are unpredictable and I fucking hate them.

We back into the kitchen. I circle around the island to grab a knife from the drawer but he’s staring at me and it’s hard to do without being caught.

Ben puts his hands on the island, spread out so he can grab me either way I try to run. I grit my teeth and reach behind me for the drawer pull.

“Isn’t that why I have you?” he hisses. “Aren’t you supposed to get down on your knees and do what I fucking tell you to do?”

I worm my hand in the drawer, fingers trembling. Ben’s gaze flickers down.

“Why’d you run away?” I taunt. My fingertips find the blade of a knife. “Got a bad call from HQ today? They tell you you’re going to the camp if you can’t perform? I’m too malnourished to get pregnant now, you stupid fuck.”

It distracts him. Ben slams a hand on the island and jerks back, turning in an angry circle, rubbing his face with both hands. He growls then screams so loud it almost makes me drop the knife I’m pulling out of the drawer. I twist it in my grasp and wait.

But his eyes are red and teary when he looks at me again. I blink and stare and he clenches his jaw.

“Fine!” he snaps. “I’ll give you what you want!”

I backpedal as he comes around the island but hold my ground near the fridge. He grabs me around the waist and pulls me in against him, kissing me hard and sloppily, stumbling forward. We slam against the fridge and I hear things fall over inside.

There’s no enough room for me to stab him in the gut or the chest. Heart pounding, I bite his lower lip, but he just growls and kisses me harder. His hands paw down my waist to the hem of my dress so he can grab my panties and yank them off.

“I’ll fuck you right here,” Ben slurs. He breathes on my cheek and pushes again, rattling the fridge. His groin pushes into mine but he’s not hard—and I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol. “Open your fucking legs, you _bitch_.”

Shit. I twist the knife in my hand and squeeze my eyes shut as I drive it blindly into his side.

He stiffens. I shove harder, nauseated at the sensation of the blade gliding through flesh, and Ben grunts softly in pain. He stops kissing me and draws away, stumbling back, face pale and blank.

I charge. This time I stab him in the upper chest and bury the knife there so hard that I can’t rip it back out. He blinks and falls against the island, eyes slowly gravitating to the chef’s knife sticking out of him that’s already pouring blood down his blue shirt.

I bare my teeth. “You know how I am with knives.”

Ben stares as I bolt past him. I can’t just take his Mercedes and run away—they’ll find me and I’ll be dragged back here in worse shape than before.

I run down the basement stairs with a new, crazy idea in my head. The adrenaline is fading: I feel agonizing pain under my ribs and up on the right side of my chest where I stabbed him. It’s so severe that I gasp and stop at the bottom of the steps, then sway over to the bench with tools.

“REY!” he screams. Something falls. “Where are you—you better not fucking leave!”

Way ahead of him. I grope around for the cage keys and swear when I hear him thumping down the stairs. My ears ring, clammy palms slipping over screwdrivers and a dog bowl before I find them.

I race to the cage. Ben chases after me but I slam the door shut and reach out to turn the lock just as he gets to me. He throws his full weight against it like a wild animal and I’m so scared that I fall flat on my ass.

He paces, glowering, and balls his fists. “You _bitch_. You fucking _bitch_.”

“Didn’t make a second key?” I retort. “Get the locksmith down here so he can see you keep me in a fucking cage!”

“I’ll break this fucking door down. You can’t get away from me, you fucking _bitch_.”

“I know you made this impossible to break out of—which means it’s impossible to break in _to_.” I dangle the keys from my fingertips, smiling. “Looks like you’re going to have to listen to some of my demands, _bitch_.”

Ben keeps pacing, hands on his hips, casting me a glare so venomous I’m surprised I’m not dead. He punches the lock and screams again. This isn’t something he can break or melt open. It’s his own fault he can’t get into the cage.

He shakes his head and rubs his face with one hand. I glare at him as he breathes hard, breaking down into stifled sobs, shaking his head. I’m delirious from hunger and fear but I feel crushing grief and _more _fear through our bond. He’s in emotional pain. The stab wounds aren’t really bothering him.

“I want my dog.” Ben takes heaving breaths and rubs his chest. “I want my dog, Rey.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

He ignores the blood staining his shirt as the grief keeps building. I get the sense he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“I want my Mia,” Ben croaks. He turns away from me, staggering toward the stairs, and I feel a wave of dizziness. “They’re supposed to give her back…” His broad shoulders shudder and he cries softly. He catches his weight on the wall. “He still won’t give her back. He said he’d give her back.”

I stare at him as he makes his way to the stairs. I’ve never felt any emotion from him before but now it’s coming in suffocating waves like a dam bursting. It _hurts. _It makes my chest tighten and my throat constrict and I crawl back to the dog bed.

Ben keeps crying to himself. He takes a hard step up on the stairs and collapses, startling me. Holy _shit. _What’s with the fucking dog? Hasn’t he ever given a shit about anything or anyone else?

He manages to get back to his feet. I watch him walk up to the first floor, still mumbling, and I curl up on my old dog bed with the keys clutched to my chest.

“Mia,” he sobs. Shuffling. Something falls. “Please give her back—please—” Glass smashes and he screams so loud that I cover my ears. “GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING DOG!”

I shrink back, terrified but relieved he can’t get to me. Ben keeps screaming and breaking shit until he stumbles upstairs to the second floor. My eyes track the ceiling above my head, hardly blinking before the sound of his sobbing fades away.

Silence falls. I settle into my old bed and tug off my heels, holding one for a weapon. Holy _shit_.


	11. Glassy eyed light of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a different narrative choice and originally i wanted to do ben's POV, but i like the idea from TLJ of two polar opposite perspectives that have the truth somewhere in between them, and i thought mia would contrast rey in a really interesting way
> 
> i went back and forth on keeping w/rey but......... meh, i like what this adds
> 
> AO3 won’t let me link a pic of a Belgian malinois so feel free to google it 😬

“She’s a big pain in the ass, Solo. Good luck.”

The Mean human grabs my scruff and it hurts so much I yelp. Bite bite. That hurts! I kick my feet and whimper for Mama, because it’s been days since I saw her last, and I miss her and my sisters. I miss her warm belly and her licks.

He hands me to another human in yellow brown clothes and I snap at him instead. The Mean human laughs and pinches my scruff like he always does to punish. Ouch! I don’t like that!

The New human turns, shielding me. I’m scared. I growl and glare at him and see brown eyes and black hair just like Mama’s. He stares back at me.

“Gotta have her ready by the time she’s six months.” Mean human waves, shaking his yellow head. “Good luck. She’s going over there bridge if she doesn’t shape up.”

New human watches the Mean human go.

I snarl and claw at his yellow brown clothes. Let me go! Let me go back to Mama and Lady and Vivi and—

He sets me down on a carpet. I tumble forward and yelp again, rolling under a table, but he doesn’t laugh or follow me. He sits on a couch, stiff, paws on his knees, and stares at me. It’s weird. I’ve never seen a human sit so still.

I’ll show him. I’m top dog.

I jump up, barking like Vivi taught me, hopping around with my fur up so New human thinks I’m big. He watches me but doesn’t get mad or smile. His expression doesn’t change at all and I can’t read it like I read most humans.

Hmph. I snort and run away to find something to chew. I’m bored. I wanna chew. I wanna play, but Mean human hits me when I try to play, and he takes my food away. I’m learning fast. Humans teach hard. I have to learn fast or they hurt me.

New human watches me sniffing out a place to pee. He clears his throat.

“Do you need to go out, Mia?”

Mia. I have a name? I thought it was Dog.

I raise my head, tilting, curious. New human asks the question again but I don’t care. I need to pee, so I find a nice place on tiles and go. He’ll probably be mad but I don’t like waiting to go outside.

New human sighs. He gets up and I stiffen, growling, but he just walks the other way. He comes back with towels and wags his finger at me.

“None of that.” New human kneels. “You need to go potty outside, Mia.”

I don’t think so, New human. I think I’ll do whatever I want until I get Mama back.

———

New human has a name: Ben.

He’s a quiet human. He does a lot of sitting and staring and doesn’t watch the light box like Mean human. He sits very still. Sometimes I think he might be a statue but then I bark and he moves, usually just to shush me. I’m not allowed on the couch or in his big bed and it makes me sad.

I want to play. I run around his little house and bring fun things for him to throw, like socks and underwear, and he just sighs and takes them. He isn’t very fun. When he’s not sitting he’s sleeping. He sleeps a lot.

But he gives me treats when I sit by the door to go outside. He pats my head, kind of hesitant, _pat pat. _No scritches. I love scritches behind the ears but no scritches. _Pat pat_.

We go for a walk to a big yellow park with other dogs. Ben won’t let me off my leash to play—he keeps it tight, trying to make me walk next to him, but I really want to play with the others. They’re all barking and talking about their masters. Mine is boring.

Ben sits on a bench and I get more frustrated. I’m bored! I want to go play! Why does he sit so much and stare and not move?!

I hop around. “Hey! I wanna play!” I nibble his pant leg and bark. “Let me go play!”

“Mia,” he says. “Stay.”

No! I bark and bark and he pinches my scruff, hard, for the first time in a long time.

I yelp and scramble away, tripping and falling on the hard ground. Ben glares at me as I slink under the bench to hide. That’s not nice. I just want to play.

He seems so sad, too. He’ll feel better if he plays with me in the sunshine. It’s nice and warm out there.

We’re quiet for a long time. I lay my head on my paws and watch everyone having fun. I’m so frustrated. I chew because I’m frustrated, and I miss Mama, and someone hugging me when I’m cold and sad. Ben is Not Nice. He’s a Mean human.

His shoes shuffle. “Mia. Mia, come.”

I can’t disobey my human, so I crawl out, whimpering. I don’t want another pinch.

But Ben is smiling a little. He leans over to unclip my leash and gestures toward the other dogs.

“Go play.”

I wag my tail, waiting for him to tell me again, then run off when he does. He sits on the bench and watches me tumble headfirst into another brown and black puppy. He’s smiling a little bit.

———

At night I have to sleep in my crate. My bed is soft but I miss Ben. I stare at the hallway and wish he would come get me one time. He cries and screams and it makes me upset. I’ll bark a little to remind him I’m here but he doesn’t come.

I wish he would. Please let me in.

Ben has a strict schedule: he gets up early, eats, takes me for a walk, then exercises by himself. He showers when he comes back and sits quietly on the couch for a couple hours, unmoving. I sit on the floor and watch him, waiting for him to tell me what to do.

It’s hard. I need someone to tell me what to do and I get frustrated when no one does. I’m a good learner, I just need to be directed.

One afternoon I chew on the table legs and rip up my bed while he’s out. Ben gets mad. He sends me to my crate and I snarl and bare my teeth because he won’t tell me what to do. I need a job. I need a job really bad. I can’t sit in my crate anymore.

“Mia!” he snaps. “Crate!”

“No!” I growl, raising my hackles. “No!”

Ben comes toward me and raises his paw and I shrink back, bracing for him to hit me. I just need something to do—I’m so bored and frustrated and I still miss my Mama. I want to go home. I don’t like humans.

But he doesn’t hit me. I look up and see him clenching his jaw. He flexes his big paw.

He stomps past me and gets my leash. I’m afraid I’m going to the Bad Place and dig in my feet, frightened, but Ben drags me out the door and downstairs.

Humans look when we get outside. He pulls me around the block to the park and my ears perk. Park? I’m not going to the Bad Place? Mama told me the humans would send me to the Bad Place if I misbehaved, but I’m upset and it’s the only way I can tell them I’m upset.

Ben unclips my leash. He leans over and picks up a stick and I can’t help but bark and wag my tail. I run back and forth to get his attention and he throws it so far that I almost lose sight of it.

I bolt after it, eager to please. I’m getting bigger and stronger and leap into the air to catch the stick, tumbling back to the grass and into a bush.

I peek out, ears up. Ben whistles.

Oh, good! He wants to play!

He takes the stick when I come back, but I make him wrestle me for it. His pat to my head turns a little rougher. I don’t mind roughhousing—I used to love roughhousing my sisters.

“Good girl.” I get a scritch behind the ears. “I’m sorry. You must be bored.” He crouches to give me a good two-ear scritch. “Never had a dog before—or any pet. I’ll do better.”

_Yes_. I’m bored. I don’t like listening to you cry, either.

Ben throws the stick again and I run even faster. I jump straight into a bush and hear him laugh, the first time I’ve _ever _heard him laugh. Bees buzz past my head as I trot back to my human with the stick, ignoring the fun butterflies and bugs I could eat.

My human seems sad. I’ll make him happy.

———

When Ben does his staring ritual, I sit right next to his legs. I’m not allowed on the couch so I sit there and stare with him, head cocked. What’s he staring at, anyway? Can humans see something I can’t?

Sometimes he pets me while we stare. He wears his yellow brown clothes all the time, sometimes to bed, and they smell like cigarettes and the beer he drinks. I hesitantly rest my head on his leg and sigh. My human is sad. I can feel it in my bones.

It’s my job to make him happy. I do my best. I always wait for him at the door to go out and wait for my dinner and breakfast until he whistles for me to come get it. He eats at his small table, just picking at his food, and sometimes he gives me pieces of it.

I remind him to go outside some days. He sits and stares for too long and I whine and nuzzle his leg, wagging my tail slowly. He needs to go outside, too. There’s sticks to throw and bugs to eat.

Ben takes me to the park and sits on the bench. He throws me frisbees and balls and sometimes hides things for me to find. When I do he’s very happy, so I _never _fail. I’m determined to get into his warm human bed and on his couch. I’ll get there. He’ll let me love him sooner or later.

We practice tricks. I roll over and heel and fetch. I’m smart, like Mama. I get bigger and have an easier and easier time following commands, soon learning how to crawl and stay quiet when he makes gestures with his paws. Those days are fun: crawling in the grass, me sniffing him out where he’s hiding.

Sometimes he grabs me and we wrestle. I use my teeth once by accident and he just says my name, stern. _Mia. You know better. _I do. I’m a bad dog.

I hide in my crate but he whistles for me to come for dinner. He never withholds my food, even when I make a mistake and annoy him. Ben never calls me Bad Dog. I love him more and more every day. He’s a Good human. My human.

But we end up on the couch each day, just staring at the light box, all empty. I curl up at his feet when I’m too tired to keep standing. I don’t know how to make my Ben happy. Doesn’t he know that I’m right here?

———

“How are you, Ben?”

Today a pretty girl human is visiting. She smells nice and brings treats but I sit next to my Ben to keep an eye on her. He pets me while he talks.

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Dog is good.”

“Yes, Mia. She’s lovely; so well-adjusted and obedient. You’ve done a fantastic job.”

“I guess. She’s just a smart dog.”

The girl human nods. “I think it was a great idea to pass her into your care. Dogs are excellent therapy animals and she’ll certainly be an asset when you’re deployed again. If, you’re deployed again.”

Ben pets me faster. It’s nervous.

I whimper and rest my head on his thigh. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.

“Soon?” he asks.

“…Soon. I know you’re eager to get back, but you’ve sustained some damage, Ben. Shrapnel, severe burns. Not to mention the psychological effects—”

“I’ve seen it all before. I’m used to the shrapnel. I just need to get back out into the thick of it.”

“Yes. Well.” She smiles and motions around. “Hux tells me you’ve been choosing to miss group therapy. Busy with Mia? Have you met someone? That would be very exciting.”

His paw pauses. It’s shaking. I strain across his lap to lick his other paw like Mama used to lick me when I was afraid. I’ll bite her if she hurts you, Ben.

He swallows. “No. Haven’t met anyone.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine. It’s difficult when coming back after such a long career—eleven years already! Right out of high school, and I understand Snoke was a neighbor beforehand. Is that why you chose to join the military, Ben?”

“I haven’t had time to meet women,” Ben continues, ignoring the girl. He’s petting me again and it’s making me nervous that he’s nervous. I glare at the girl human from under the table.

“I know, I know. It’s okay.” Her shoes click on the tile and I smell her perfume. Flowers. “You’re so young, Ben. So tired. You can be honorably discharged and retain your benefits.” She pauses. “Keep Mia.”

I growl softly. Keep me? Why wouldn’t he be able to keep me? He’s _mine_.

Ben curls his wrist around my neck lightly, just to hug my closer to his leg. I’m more than happy to oblige. Please let me love you. I know you need it so badly.

“It’s all I know.”

“No—you can learn more. _Do _more. You can rest, start a family, participate in therapy. I know there are other things going on besides the PTSD, and they’ll only get worse if you don’t take time to rest.”

His body shudders. He’s crying.

“Just… let me go back,” he croaks. He squeezes me and I bury my wet nose in his palm. “Please. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, Hailey.”

“…I know. I’m sorry, Captain.”

The Mean human gets up and leaves. I consider chasing her out but my Ben is crying so I paw at his leg and nuzzle him. Maybe he’ll let me lick his face today. I _know _that will make him feel better.

But he gets up and goes to his bedroom to cry alone, so I obediently go to my crate. I lie there, head on my paws, and watch the hallway while he cries.

I’m here. I’m here. Please let me in.

———

Ben leaves me the next night and doesn’t come home until very late. I wag my tail when the door opens, hoping I can bring him on a walk to the park. That should make him feel better. 

He stumbles inside with another human: a girl human. I cock my head, watching them do the icky mouth mashing, and see Ben slam the door shut and shove her against it. The girl hisses and pulls his hair. I growl, curling my lip. Don’t you _dare. _

“Ow!” she snaps.

“Sorry—sorry.” Ben slips back and she walks around him. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. I don’t do blowjobs for less than three hundred and it’s a hundred-fifty an hour.” She turns, paw out. “Up front.”

Ben fumbles in his pockets. He hands the girl brown papers, money, and she smiles and sticks it in her back pocket. She comes closer and kisses his mouth.

He seems nervous. I growl softly. I’ll break out of this cage if I need to. I’ll bite her.

“I haven’t done this,” he mumbles.

“Obviously.” She moves away and takes his paw, leading him toward the hallway. “Twenty-eight year old virgin isn’t the weirdest I’ve had. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take good care of you.”

“I just—I don’t like being touched, and I don’t like sweat—” He speaks louder but anxious. “It’s hard for me to relax.”

They disappear down the hallway. Grr. I don’t like the strange woman. Her clothes are crooked.

Strange sounds reach my ears. I stand in my crate and listen, ready to protect my Ben. I’ll hurt her. She better not make my Ben upset.

The sounds change after a long time passes. Heavy footsteps come down the hall and I see the girl first, buttoning her shirt, laughing as Ben follows her. He looks sad and I see he has water running down his cheeks; those tears humans get when they’re very sad. My teeth bare.

“I’m sorry!” His voice cracks. “I just need a few minutes—”

“I’m a hooker, not a shrink.” The girl opens the door and drops Ben’s brown paper on the floor. “Good luck, babe. I’m keeping eighty for my trouble.”

I jump to my feet and bark furiously. Get out! _Get out_! Never ever come back!

Ben begs her not to leave but she does. She slams the door shut behind her and he rubs his face and screams. It makes me quiet down and shrink back, worried he might take out his sadness on me.

I watch him stumble down the hallway. Oh no. My poor Ben. He’s going to cry again tonight. What if he has bad dreams and I can’t get to him? I’ll bite that mean girl if she comes back here, even if she gives me treats and scritches.

I whine and bark in my crate while he cries all night, but I stay put because he doesn’t whistle for me. I’m not a Bad Dog.

I circle, whimpering. I’m here. I’m here. Please let me love you.


	12. Glassy eyed light of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guys thought the last chapter was bad????? 
> 
> this is the last mia POV for a while, we will be back to rey next chap. this has some snoke/ben so gird ur loins

A man visits my Ben one night. I do not like the smell of him.

I’m locked in my crate, on all fours, growling at the tall, old man who shuffles inside. This is my Territory and I do not like this man—the way he speaks, he smells, he _looks_. I growl.

He looks at me with a twisted, ugly face. I pin my ears back and curl my lip. Don’t try to touch me. Don’t you _dare _touch my Ben.

“Aggressive,” he says.

“A little, but she _is _a military dog.” Ben smiles from behind the man and whistles. “It’s okay, Mia. Don’t growl at our boss, please.”

“He’s bad!” I bark.

They move away from me but I know my Ben’s body language now, and he’s very tense. I pace in a circle, too big now to do much else, and growl in my throat. Let me at ‘em. Let me at ‘em.

The man takes off his coat and sits at the table with Ben. They talk for a long time. Ben keeps his arms crossed over his chest and gets paler. He rubs his neck and keeps glancing into the kitchen at the yellow thing that tells the time. Just let me out. I’ll bite him.

“I’m glad you like the dog,” the man, Snoke, says. He reaches out and touches Ben’s paw. “I thought she might be a good project for you.”

“Yeah. She’s great.” Ben rubs his neck again. He’s sweating. I can sense he’s upset. “I should take her out for a walk before she gets antsy. She starts tearing shit up.”

Snoke grasps Ben’s paw. I pace faster, ears back, on high alert. Don’t touch him—DON’T touch him—

“It can wait.”

They stand. I snarl as they walk past me toward the hallway and erupt into barking when I hear a door shut. No no no! I don’t like that! I can’t see him!

Furious, I hurl myself into the cage door, howling and clawing until my paws bleed. I tear at the thin metal bars and bark and bark but I can’t get out, even when I hear the distinct sound of Ben crying and the strange man murmuring. It’s driving me _crazy. _

I thrash so hard that the crate topples over and the door pops open.

Scrambling, I bolt down the hallway and throw myself against the bedroom door. Let me in! Let me in! Stop shutting me _out_!

“It seems like the dog got out,” murmurs the soft voice of the Intruder. Ben groans. “Maybe she’s jealous.” His breath catches. “Do you think she’s jealous, Ben?”

He doesn’t answer.

I can’t get in. I hurl myself against the door until my shoulder hurts so much that I’m limping, and I descend into whimpers and whining. Ben cries. Snoke whispers to him. I lie down outside the door, trying to decipher all the strange sounds, but they make no sense. Why is Ben letting a strange man in his bedroom, but not me?

I’m right here. I love him. Did I do something wrong?

Ben doesn’t say anything the entire time. He groans. His breath hitches and he makes awful choking noises that make me whine and scratch the door.

Snoke grunts. “That’s good. Nice and tight.” Skin hits skin. “That’s my good boy.”

More groaning. Time wears on. I paw at the door. Please let me in. 

They lapse in silence and I hear Ben crying hard. Snoke shushes him and whispers and I snarl.

“Shh… shh.” Sheets rustle. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

Ben sobs, hardly coherent. Snoke murmurs and the bed creaks a little bit. He’s sleeping in Ben’s bed? I want to sleep in Ben’s bed!

“Please don’t go,” Ben begs.

“Well I have to leave tomorrow, dear. Duty calls.”

“But—but—”

Snoke shushes him again. “Go to sleep. I’ll visit again before you’re deployed with sweet Mia. I know how much you want to get back to work.”

“I fucking hate being here. I feel so alone.” Ben cries. “I don’t even think… I don’t think she likes me.”

I lift my head and whine. I _love _you. Can’t you tell I love you? All you have to do is let me in.

But Snoke sighs. “You know how dogs are. Beasts.” He lowers his voice. “But I love you, dear. I loved you when you were a lonely teenage boy starting fires for attention. Remember that? You little scoundrel.”

Ben groans. His breathing gets faster. Snoke keeps whispering.

It’s light when I wake to the sound of the door opening. I snarl and jump up but Snoke is out the door before I can bite him. He smiles at me as the front door shuts and clicks.

The bedroom door is open. I stand there, head cocked, watching my Ben where he’s asleep and shuddering in the middle of his bed. There’s a strange smell here. I want to help but I can’t come into his Territory without permission. That’s a Bad Dog.

His dark eyes flutter open. He stares at me. He’s naked, yellow brown clothes folded neatly on a chair, big hairless body curled into a ball.

I whine and dip my head. See? I’m right here. I’m trying to be good.

His eyes feel like they’re staring through me. “Is he gone?”

I bark. Yes. He’s gone, and he _won’t _come back.

Ben swallows and closes his eyes again. No no—please—please let me in—

“Crate, Mia.”

No! I bark and stamp my feet. He groans and breaks down into tears again, telling me in a louder voice to go back to my crate, but I won’t. Not this time. I’m going to sleep in his bed and love him and there’s _nothing _he can to do stop me.

I bound up to the bed, tail wagging, licking his face eagerly like I’ve wanted to for months. My Ben cries more and shakes his head so I lick down his neck to clean off the salty tears, and put my paws on the edge of the bed.

“Mia—” He turns over and shivers but his crying turns into weak laughter. “Mia, seriously, I’m fucking naked, you freak!”

I’m not sure why humans have no fur. Ben must be cold.

I jump up and lie down right beside him, tail wagging so fast I think it might fly right off. He laughs and grabs me around the neck, squeezing, pulling me in to his chest—then he cries again, face buried in my fur.

My licking slows. I rest my head on his shoulder and let him squeeze me until I can’t breathe. He paws at my fur and cries so hard that _he _can’t breathe.

Then my Ben falls asleep, shuddering. I manage to lift my head and turn to pull the warm sheet over us with my teeth, because I know he’s cold. Birds sing songs outside, so it’s time for my breakfast, but I don’t mind going hungry.

I’m in my Ben’s bed—even if I had to break down doors down to get here.

———

“Mia, come.”

My Ben brought me to a fun contest where we play in front of other humans. It’s the same games we practiced at home and I like showing off how good we are together. He’s mine.

I race back to him and make a flying leap for the thick glove on his arm. Ben growls back at me and we turn and turn, roughhousing, until I finally drag him to the ground and up a couple feet. He tells me to release and I do, hurriedly licking his face so he knows I love him. I’m just playing.

Snoke is there with two other humans in yellow green clothes. They nod.

“Remarkable,” one says. “Hux had difficulty with her but she’s blossomed with you, Solo.”

My Ben sits on the ground, hugging my neck and scritching behind my ears. I pant and eye Snoke.

“She’s smart. Reward-motivated.” Ben kisses me and buries his face in my fur. “And I, uh… do the discipline and stuff. Keep her in line.”

Yeah right. I’d roll my eyes if I could.

“Maybe soulmates can be a dog and a man,” Snoke says, smiling. “Ah… but don’t go fucking the dog, Solo.”

Everyone laughs.

I’m given a very heavy medal to wear around my neck. It makes me proud. I have a job. I have my own uniform and make my Ben happy.

———

We play lots of times in the park. I’m free of my leash, walking right alongside Ben when we go out for walks or bathroom breaks, and he brings me everywhere he goes. Now he visits more places: bakeries, where the Nice humans give me sweet things, and stores to buy my food and toys.

I get treats everywhere I go. I’m a Good Dog. People tell Ben I’m beautiful and well-behaved, and he brushes me for hours at home. My coat is sleek and shiny and I eat the best food.

I’m even allowed on the couch now. Ben invites me one night while we watch the light box, a couple days after the Snoke man visited. I’m staring at him and he rolls his eyes and motions for me to jump up.

_Yes!_

I jump and lick his face. He laughs and grabs me in a tight hug, slapping my ribs and squeezing. We lay there and watch the light box, me draped over his lap, eyeing the door. I’ll bite _anyone _who comes in here.

Ben spends less time watching the wall. I bring him on walks to the bakery and ask other dogs if they have Nice owners. One Nice girl has a white and gray dog who plays a lot like me, and we watch her and Ben talk to each other. Girl humans seem Nice.

Her dog, Felix, nuzzles me.

“I like your human, but he seems sad. My Sarah is not sad.”

I huff. “Well my Ben is getting better. We work together. I have a _medal_.”

Felix gasps. “A medal?!”

“Yes, and my own uniform.” I puff up proudly and sniff. “I’m a working dog.”

Felix is very impressed. He’s fixed, like me, so we don’t even want to make puppies. He’s just very impressed by my Ben and me. He should be.

Sarah laughs. She’s very pretty, with skin the color of my coat and hair in long braids. She takes care of sick humans. She smells _very _nice and always has treats.

“This is like _101 Dalmatians_,” she says. Her brown eyes wander to me and Felix. “You ever think they’re a lot smarter than they let on?”

Ben glances at me and smiles. I wag my tail.

“Yeah. They are.”

———

Sarah becomes _my _Sarah.

She visits often and goes for walks with Ben and me and Felix. They eat outside and I stay by his side, watching, eyes peeled for the Snoke.

They laugh a lot. She watches the light box with my Ben and I don’t even get jealous of her lying on his lap where I usually sleep. I stand guard near the door instead, because I will protect both of my people. Felix does not guard much.

One afternoon my Ben brings me to the Workplace. He signs some papers and shakes a girl human’s paw, and she gives him my uniform. We’re going to work soon and I can’t wait. I’m very excited to work with Ben, even if it means my Sarah will stay behind.

He pets me as we walk through a hangar. “Almost time, Mia.” He’s happy, smiling at me. “No more sitting around waiting, no more tedious bullshit. Gonna tell Sarah tonight at dinner.” He pauses, rubbing his chest. “You think she’ll be okay with it?”

I bark. Of course she will! Our Sarah won’t go anywhere.

“Captain.”

Snoke appears from the shadows. I bristle.

He comes closer with his paws behind his back, smiling. Ben puts a paw on my head and I growl and press closer to him. Say the word. I’ll rip his throat out and we can play with it.

“I’m going to stop by,” Snoke says. “Make sure you crate the dog, hm?”

I look up at my Ben and he looks down at me. Don’t let him in. I’m right here, and so is Sarah, and Felix. Please don’t let him in. We can fill all those empty aching spots; take up so much space that there’s none left for him.

Ben stares at me. “Actually—” He glances up, meeting the Snoke’s eyes. “I’m going out for dinner with my girlfriend. We take the dogs to this outdoor restaurant and Mia gets upset when we don’t go.”

I glare at Snoke, daring him to do something—_anything_. He assesses Ben silently and his gray eyes drift to me. Go ahead. Make my day, buddy.

He smiles. “Well, who am I to get in the way of love? Enjoy your evening, Captain.”

“Thanks. Thanks.”

The Snoke turns and leaves. Ben keeps petting me, then clicks his tongue, and we hurry off.

He opens the car door and I hop in. He slides in beside me in the back seat, pale, paws shaking, and I whimper and lick his face. This happens sometimes. He might throw up or cry or scream but I’m right here if he needs to cry into my fur or hug me.

It’s okay. I’m right here, and I’ll never leave.

Ben squeezes his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. He takes out his talking box and I think he’ll call Sarah, but he drops it and grabs me instead.

Today he cries, and that’s okay with me. I just clean him up the way Mama used to clean me.

———

Something bad happens a few weeks later. My Sarah visits and sits at the table to talk with my Ben. No Felix. It’s a bad sign.

She holds his paw. “I’m sorry, Ben. I just feel like you’re shutting me out.” Her eyes are watery and sad. “You flinch whenever we kiss—it’s been three months since we started dating and we haven’t gotten _past _kissing. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t. That glazed look comes over his dark eyes and he shakes his head. Sarah tries to get him to talk but Ben just sits and stares like he used to until she gives up. She kisses his cheek, pets me, and leaves.

We stop going for fun walks: no more bakery, no more treats at the restaurant. Ben sits and stares at the empty light box. I stare with him.

My Sarah never comes back. Neither does Felix.

———

Ben packs a duffel bag a week later. It’s almost time for us to go to work and he’s very focused.

I bring him my uniform and he pets me. We sleep together at night now, sometimes quiet, sometimes full of him screaming into my fur or crying. I feel cold things in his forearms when I lick him; like metal.

The doorbell rings. My ears perk and I go to my crate when Ben says to.

And _he _comes inside. The Bad Man.

He smiles and hangs up his coat. I snarl, already furious at the sight of him. Don’t you hurt my Ben! I’ll go find Sarah and tell her and she’ll make you stop!

Snoke closes the door. “So sorry to hear about your girlfriend. It’s for the best, with the deployment coming up soon.”

He seizes Ben by the throat. That sends me into hysteria, shrieking and barking and hurling myself into the cage door. I’ll kill him! I’ll rip out his throat and make him pay for what he’s doing!

Ben goes limp. He stares at the Snoke and his paws tremble at his sides.

Snoke squeezes. “You should have known better. I’m the only one who has the patience to love you at all, Ben.” His jaw clenches, eyebrows raising. “And when I want to to show you how much I love you, it’s not a request. Is it?”

Ben shakes his head. The Bad Man shoves him so hard that he falls over, and he snaps his fingers. He sits on the couch where I watch the light box with Ben, and my Ben crawls over on all fours.

I’m not sure what happens next. I keep barking until my throat hurts, watching Snoke grabbing Ben’s hair and pushing his face in his lap. His misty eyes close and he groans, petting Ben, ignoring the choking and coughing sounds he makes.

Snoke grunts, holding Ben’s head, and his mouth opens. Wet sounds follow and they both breathe harder until Snoke stops moving. He smiles.

“Go get undressed,” he murmurs. Ben lifts his head and Snoke pets his cheek. “I’ll be in soon.”

“Don’t—don’t hurt Mia.” Ben shakes his head. “She doesn’t understand. Please don’t hurt her.”

I howl when the Bad Man grabs Ben’s throat again. I’m throwing myself into the sides of the crate, panicked. No! Let him _go_!

“A firm hand makes an obedient bitch,” Snoke whispers. “You should know that by now.”

Luck comes through again.

My crate topples over and breaks open. Snoke hardly has time to glance at me before I’m on him, jaw snapping, spittle flying. Ben shouts as he falls back but I ignore his commands because he doesn’t know what he’s saying. This Bad Man is in his head.

I sink my teeth into Snoke’s forearm and drag him off my Ben’s couch—_our _couch—easily throwing him around on the floor like a ragdoll. He screams like a puppy for help but I see my Ben is huddling in a corner, dark eyes wide.

I throw Snoke towards the door and bear down on all four paws, snarling, barking. Get out! _Get out_!

Blood everywhere. The Bad Man is pale and frightened and scrambles for his coat. He tries to speak to Ben and I charge again, howling at him to leave my Territory before I really do rip out his throat.

The door opens and I charge, but it shuts before I can sink my fangs into his thigh. I’ll bite off that dangly part. Don’t use that on my Ben. I’ll bite it off, buddy.

My heart pounds. I look back at my Ben, head in his paws, rocking back and forth. Whimpering, I dip my head and hide my tail between my legs. Oh no. I hope all my barking didn’t scare him.

But he cries my name. “Mia—Mia, come. Come.” He takes a couple frantic breaths. “Please come.”

I rush to him. He’s so hysterical that he can’t reach out, so I worm my head under his arm, whining, and give a gentle tug. Come, Ben. You’ll feel better in our warm bed. You’ll feel better after I lick you.

He comes. He crawls on all fours and I walk beside him, patient like Mama was with me when I learned how to walk. These are puppy steps. I have to be patient while he takes his puppy steps.

Ben makes it to the bathroom and throws up in the toilet. I paw at the knobs for the shower, a trick I learned that he doesn’t know and I wanted to show him someday. He cries over the toilet so I tug his sleeve again, drawing him to the tub.

He crawls in. I step in. Water falls like rain but I don’t mind getting wet. Ben curls on his side and I curl up next to him as he lets the water rinse out his mouth and tries to wipe the blood off mine.

I don’t mind it. I like the taste of victory.

“I love you so much,” he sobs. He hugs me. “I love you so much, Mia.”

I whine and nuzzle his neck. I love you more, I think. I want to protect you from everything that makes you cry, but I don’t think I can protect you from the Bad Man, no matter how many times I bite him.

But someone else can. I _know _someone else can. I feel it in my bones and my blood.


	13. The path trails off

Hard rapping wakes me up.

Groggy, I grimace and roll over in the dog bed, blinking hard in the near-darkness. A big black shape stands near the side of the cage. Ben, obviously.

He kicks the bars. “Phone call.”

It’s hard to see him, but I can make out his pale face and red eyes. They stare right through me as I rub my eyes and struggle to make sense of what he’s saying. I’m exhausted. My side and chest are absolutely killing me from where I stabbed him last night.

Ben taps the house phone on the bars. It’s not aggressive, just insistent. He looks beyond me.

“Phone call,” he repeats.

“Wh—? With who?”

“Lucy.” He taps continuously. “You have five minutes.”

Holy shit.

I scramble to the side of the cage. He holds the phone in place outside it and I notice he’s wearing the same clothes from last night, blood stains and all. I’m woozy. He must’ve not eaten.

My ear touches metal. “Hello? Hello?”

“Rey?”

Oh my god. I laugh and swing back to being teary at the sound of her voice, nodding like she can see me. Ben is staring past me at the dog bed.

“Lucy! It’s so good to hear from you!”

“Jesus, you too, Rey. I was terrified when I heard—he liquidated the company, but I did what you asked. Things are still in motion.”

Thank fuck. I keep nodding.

“Great. Thank you.”

“Of course. We added a new touch: ‘RESIST’ on the wrists and ankles. Kind of daring but it’s selling really well. Tom is helping me out; getting them out there.” She lowers her voice. “He thinks he knows why Ben found you. Apparently we were a thorn in the side of that powers that be.”

“…What?”

“Yeah. You were taken out of the equation.”

My stomach flips. Taken out of the equation. This was done deliberately to prevent women from being able to protect themselves. This is a prison.

I swallow. “Why?”

“You were making waves. It’s just a theory, but why else would Ben suddenly come looking for you?”

Why _would _he? It’s plainly obvious that he can’t fucking stand me.

Lucy asks me how I’m doing and I lie and say it’s okay. I’m not going to give her too much information that Ben can pick up on. But he’s unresponsive, just gazing at the dog bed, and it makes my spine prickle.

He blinks. “Time’s up.”

“Stay safe,” Lucy says quickly. “I’ll be in touch. Just stay safe, Rey. Okay?”

“I will. Thank you—I love you, Luce.”

“Love you too.”

Ben hangs up. He slips the phone in his pocket and silently turns away from me to go for the stairs, rigid, impassive. He looks like hell for the first time since we’ve met and I’m stricken with an unwelcome bit of sympathy. Seriously, what is with the _dog_?

“Hey,” I call.

He pauses, hand on the railing. His other goes up to rub his chest.

I lick my lips. “Did you… clean the cuts?”

“Of course I did.”

“So you just didn’t bother changing your shirt?”

Ben glances at me over his shoulder. It’s an eerie blank look, not that smug shitty smirk, and it sets _me _off kilter. Jesus.

He stares. “It didn’t cross my mind.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really? The man who goes out and gets drunk because he messes up makeup—didn’t think to change his bloody shirt?”

Ben doesn’t reply. He cocks his head.

“We’re having a visitor today. An old friend.” His lower eyelid twitches but his expression doesn’t change. “In exchange for the phone call, could you fix your face and change into another dress?”

Yeah, whatever. I shrug and nod. I’m not leaving the cage until more of my demands are met but the phone call with Lucy has me a lot more hopeful. The suits are still in production and I’m not even here because Ben just _wanted _me.

Maybe I can use that to my advantage. He doesn’t want me, I don’t want him. We can work together.

Ben starts up the stairs. I clear my throat.

“Who took your dog?”

He stops dead. I can see his profile, still blank, but his knuckles turn white on the rail. He trembles.

His throat bobs. “I’ll be back shortly. Would you like breakfast?”

“Ben.” I curl my hands around the bars, studying him. “Just tell me who took Mia.”

“Poe called to compliment your hosting. He _did _mention you weren’t wearing your glove for some time, but didn’t find it offensive.” He continues up the stairs. “I’ll bring an omelet.”

“I can help you get her back.”

But I don’t get a response. The door opens and shuts and I’m plunged back into darkness.

———

I’m alone for a while with my thoughts before Ben comes back with breakfast and the clothes.

There’s obviously something weird going on, but he’s not going to let me in. He actively repels any attempt I make to understand him as a human being; maybe even proactively does his best to be as horrible and repulsive as possible. I’ve met plenty of traumatized people in my days living on the streets.

But I don’t trust him one fucking bit. It’s not like I’m going to open the cage and expect Ben will act like a person and not like an absolute monster.

Light lances down the stairs, followed by the overhead lights flickering on. I wince as his heavy footsteps come down slowly with the delicious scent of eggs and bacon and onions. Now I can actually eat. Thank fucking _god_.

Ben’s utterly blank facial expression hasn’t changed. He opens the door slot and whistles.

I glare. “Are you fucking serious?”

He doesn’t blink. We both stand there in silence for an awkward span before he blinks and whistles again. It echoes in the cold, empty basement.

I shift my weight before shuffling over. Ben doesn’t even glance at me as I take the plate, with an omelet and toast, and he offers me a cup of water through the bars. It trembles slightly in his grasp.

“I’m going to sit here and die if you poisoned this,” I warn, retreating to the dog bed.

“That’s fine.”

Then he disappears upstairs again.

Disturbed, I hesitate before digging into my omelet. I’m not really suicidal, and if he’s poisoned my food to make me so sick that I _need _his help, I’ll be forced to unlock the cage. But I’m hungry. Really hungry. I’m sick of constantly being hungry.

I’m weak, so I dig in.

Ben returns when I’m halfway done. He has a green dress and white flats, and a small makeup bag with a mirror. He pushes them through the slot and the bars and I set them aside on the dog bed while I finish my breakfast. God it’s good.

I lick my fingers. “Where’d you learn how to cook?”

He sits on a chair near the work bench. Same bloody shirt. Is he ever going to change?

“Between deployments,” he replies. “Mia and I watched Food Network.”

“Oh.” I spear a stray piece of bacon and frown, chewing. “When did you get her?”

“A decade ago, when I was twenty-eight and she was twelve weeks old.”

Wow, Mia is getting up there in dog years. German Shepherds don’t live very long so I’d imagine a Belgian malinois wouldn’t get more than twelve or fourteen years. Why would anyone take away a ten-year-old dog from her owner?

I pick at my omelet. Better tread softly. If I poke at a sore spot he’ll clam up again and I’ll have to waste precious time cracking him open.

“Smart?” I ask.

He nods. His hands are on his knees and he’s staring through me again. No smug smile.

“Yes. She’s very intelligent.”

“Did you guys do anything else together? Practice makeup? Learn women’s fashion?”

This time his dark eyes flicker to mine. He studies me for a minute and I think I’ve lost him back to the shell.

“…No.” Ben shrugs, averting his gaze again. “That was my own undertaking. I prefer when things are done _correctly,_ and few people do things _correctly._”

“People make mistakes, though. We’re not computers that can be programmed or dogs that can be conditioned. People make mistakes and you have to learn how to empathize with how fallible we all are, because _you _make mistakes, too.”

There. Dick. You’re just as flawed as the rest of us.

But it doesn’t seem to phase him at all. Ben resumes his staring contest with the wall.

I give him a couple minutes before I poke again. Whoever is visiting must be important, but they don’t care about seeing me in a cage. More military. Maybe it’s the guy Ben keeps talking to on the phone.

“Are you going to change?” I ask. I sip my water. “Won’t they wonder how you were stabbed?”

“I’ll be punished either way.”

“…For being stabbed?”

He rubs his chest. His eyes are elsewhere, looking back at things I can’t fathom. This could be easy if he would just let me in, but that’s clearly not an easy thing for him. There’s a lot of layers to peel back. Ben won’t give up a single one without a fight.

“For failure,” he replies, impassive. His rubbing gets faster. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year. Now I’m sure it will be pushed to two.”

The crushing grief comes roaring back out of nowhere. It sits squarely in the center of my chest like an elephant; like I think a heart attack must feel. Pressure crawls up my throat. I think I need to cry but it just won’t move—it’s just stuck.

Seriously—come the fuck on—what is with this goddamn _dog_?

“Mia?” I prompt. I grimace, twisting my neck. “They won’t give her back because you failed?”

Ben’s eyes widen, breaths quickening, and I think he’s having a panic attack. He nods once and gets up to pace, deliberately running his hand over the stab wound so it blots out the other pain.

Nothing else is forthcoming. I can’t do much being locked in a cage but I’m not willing to risk coming out.

I grasp the bars. “Ben. I can help you get her back.”

“I want my dog,” he mumbles. He’s hyperventilating. “I want my dog, Rey. I want my dog.”

“I know. If we work together we can get her back.” I walk along the bars when he wanders off towards a dark corner. “You just—you have to let me help you. You have to stop shutting me out.”

The doorbell rings and emotion finally flashes across Ben’s face. Fear. That wide-eyed, thin-lipped fear.

Fuck. Son of a bitch. If he’s punished for letting me one-up him, I’m going to be in the same goddamn boat. Keeping myself locked up will only piss off everyone involved.

I grit my teeth, turning back for the clothes he brought. I’ll have to do the makeup after I let the guest in, and I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my suddenly mute soulmate. Maybe I can say he’s just sick.

Cursing, I wriggle out of the black dress into the green one and change flats. Ben hasn’t moved an inch when I’m done and he still doesn’t when I reach out to unlock the cage.

He _does _jump when I give him a good slap across the face. He blinks and follows me when I snap, gesturing toward the stairs.

“Go wait in the bedroom,” I say. I zip up my dress, already in the first step. “I’ll head him off and come up in a couple minutes to help. You fucking owe me for this, Ben. No more turkey basters and shit. You owe me.”

No response, but he does follow me upstairs and goes up the second flight to the bedroom. I glare after him and fix my hair in the hall mirror, just going for passably clean until I can slip away, when the doorbell rings again. Jesus, hold your horses.

I run another hand through my hair before I open the door. How bad can this guy be?

It’s cool out—balmy and humid, definitely not breakfast time like Ben said. I keep a smile planted on my face as I open the door but it almost disappears when I see a hunched old man standing there, and that’s not the worst part.

A very familiar brown and black dog stands next to him, muzzled. Doleful dark eyes meet mine and I stare in utter shock. Oh _no_. Oh no.

“You must be Rey.”

I glance up. The old man is watching me, misty gray eyes slipping through my skin in a greasy, repulsive way. He’s wearing a hat but I see his skin is mottled and twisted from age or scars and I get a _distinct _bad feeling, the same one I got from the same old men who used to come up to me on the street

_“I’ll give you some money if you play with me.”_

Oh _no_.

He steps up to let himself into the house while I keep staring, piecing together the puzzle. Mia limps behind him and her claws click across the floor.

The man shuts the door behind himself. He offers a gnarled hand, still smiling.

“Snoke,” he says. “_General_ Snoke.”

I hesitate before shaking his hand. Jesus. This dude has kiddie diddler written all over him. I’d always repel the creeps with water bottles and bleach but I have a very, very, _very _bad feeling…

Still, I shake. “I’m Rey Niima. Ben is upstairs getting dressed—I’m about to go check on him.” I shake faster, eyeing the dog. If he’s not here to hand her over then Ben is going to have a fucking coronary. “Is, um… is that Mia?”

“Oh, yes. Little Mia.” Snoke yanks the leash and she goes with it, pliant. “Ben has been so eager to see her that I wanted to give him a little taste.”

Oh _no. _A little taste? So she’s not being given back permanently, he just brought her to torment Ben?

My ears ring and I rub my chest. He’s going to absolutely lose his shit. He’s already just barely holding on to sanity and when he sees the dog—

Snoke leans back. “Perhaps I should check on him.”

I jump up, shaking my head, rushing for the stairs. Mia’s ears pivot.

“Nope!” I call, stumbling upstairs. “What are soulmates for, right? I’ll be back!”

At least I can head this off before Ben comes downstairs and gets the rudest shock of his life. I race across the landing, peering over my shoulder to see if I’m followed, when I bump into the man in question.

He’s changed into black pants and a charcoal shirt, currently rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. His hair is brushed back and he smells nice, but the weirdest thing is the return of his obnoxious smile. The blank stare is gone. Was he faking it?

I stare up at him. He raises his eyebrows.

Then I point back. “Dog—your dog—”

“I know.” Ben turns his watch around his wrist, unimpressed with my intel. “I knew he would bring her.”

“Wh—” I scowl. “Have you been faking this whole thing? I’ll go lock myself back up right _now_.”

He grasps my jaw, not hard, but firm enough to make me pay attention. I’ll poke his eyes out. I’ll punch him right in the stab wounds and punch his dog.

Ben’s dark eyes search mine. “If you continue to behave, we can come to an arrangement.” His lower eyelid twitches. Stress fracture through the new mask. “I was a Ranger, dear. I’m very accustomed to rearranging myself to accommodate company.”

“…You were just—pacing? Crying?” I frown, stricken with another weird bout of sympathy. How does a human suddenly make an about-face like that? “I don’t get it. You just… you’re fine?”

No. He’s definitely not.

But Ben lets go and strides past me toward the stairs. Mia starts barking like she can sense him coming. I stare at his back, spine prickling. What the _hell _is wrong with this man?

“Fix your face, Rey.” He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes sweeping down my dress. “My boss is here.”

Then he rolls his neck and proceeds down the stairs. I don’t hear him greet his dog.


	14. And heads down a mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rey is pure chaotic neutral in this chapter also this is the last one i have on retainer

Most of the makeup is still in the basement so I do what I can before going downstairs. I make sure I cover my hand with a glove so I’m not ‘disciplined’ for that later on.

Mia is still barking her head off when I shuffle into the living room. Ben is on the couch across from Snoke, smiling faintly, arm stretched across the back. His dark eyes flicker to me and he motions.

“Rey,” he calls. “Come, dear.”

I come. Mia whines and strains her collar, desperate the way dogs are when they want someone they can’t have. I sit beside Ben and he sighs.

“Dear—” He sips his scotch. “Would you mind bringing Mia to the basement? I don’t want her to interrupt our evening with her incessant _barking_.”

I laugh a little. “But I’m wearing a dress, _dear_. Why don’t you go? I’ll keep the General company.”

Ben taps my shoulder with three fingers. It’s light, so I assume I gave the right answer.

He stands and whistles. Snoke releases her leash and Mia comes bounding after Ben as he walks around the corner toward the basement. She’s panting and whining when he opens the door, then it’s quiet.

I’m left staring down the pedophile. It’s painfully obvious and for whatever reason, my blood boils, even when reflecting on my cage excursion. It must be a universal type of hatred that transcends _other _forms of hatred. I’d like to punch him.

Snoke leans back, sipping his own scotch. I cross my legs and we stare at each other, unblinking, neither cracking a smile. Someone wanted me out of the picture. I’m sure he knows who.

I’ll buy time so Ben can make out with his dog or whatever. I take great pleasure in being a bitch to men who don’t like me.

“General,” I intone like it’s impressive. “How many years of service do you have?”

“Oh, must be close to forty by now. Our Ben has twenty, before his retirement last year.”

My hackles raise _and _I get nauseous. _Our Ben_. What the fuck?

I smile. “Well that’s for the best. Now I have him all to myself.” I stare, unrelenting. “I’m not very good at sharing, you see. I’ve always been so terribly selfish.”

Snoke stares back at me. He finishes his drink and folds his legs. I’m not afraid of you. You weigh ninety pounds soaking wet, you fuck.

“We all learn to share,” he replies. “Even selfish women.”

“Not me.” I pick up Ben’s drink and take a sip, narrowing my eyes. “I’m a woman, so I’m a slow learner.”

“Hm. That’s surprising, considering how successful your business was. How impressive: a little orphan grows up to start a multimillion dollar business.” He smiles smugly, the same way Ben does. “But I’m sure you’ve adjusted well to domestic life. It’s what women are best suited for.”

“Oh, of _course. _How could I not? Granted, there have been some bumps along the way, but…” I shrug. “My Ben is such a patient man that they’re hardly noticed.”

Irritation passes over his wrinkly face. I’m nothing if I’m not competitive and I _love _the taste of victory.

The basement door opens again. I shift on the couch, beaming from ear to ear because now I know it pisses Snoke off. Ben comes in to the room and gives me a weird look as he sits beside me again, but I just keep smiling and hand him his drink.

“Talking about me?” he asks. He settles back and puts an arm over the back of the couch. “All good things, I hope.”

“Is there anything else?” I tease.

Ben coughs when I slide a hand over his thigh. It doesn’t go unnoticed across the room. Good. Squirm, you fuck.

Snoke clears his throat. “Ben, another scotch?”

I gasp and get to my feet like he lit my ass on fire. Ben even looks a little confused as I take his and Snoke’s drinks over to the bar on the wall. Wish I had some turkey baster jizz for Snoke’s but he’d probably like it.

“Don’t be silly!” I chastise over my shoulder. I pop open the scotch and smile as I pour. “Ben is retired! Let his new soulmate fetch the drinks.” I slam the bottle down a little hard and turn, still smiling. “What are women for if they can’t pour drinks?”

I hand them off and plant my ass right back beside Ben. They’re both unsettled, which is deeply satisfying. I’m jonesing to ask Snoke in a roundabout way if he knows how and why Ben found me, but that might not happen during this trip. Tread softly.

Ben puts his arm over the back of the couch behind me again. I keep staring at Snoke as I reach back and tug it onto my shoulders, leaning into his ribs, and slap my hand on his thigh. Ben coughs and jumps a little, squeezing my shoulder.

“So, Ben.” I feign innocence, cocking my head. “The General tells me you retired last year. Seems odd, since you love working.”

“We agreed it was for the best,” Ben mutters. He drinks, dark eyes wandering elsewhere. “Twenty years is long enough.”

Ah. So he was forced into retirement _and _they took the dog away. Wonder why? Was it just part of an elaborate scheme to have me removed?

Snoke shrugs, studying me, rubbing his thumb to his index finger. “It’s in Ben’s best interest to retire and start a family. Not all of us are so lucky to meet our soulmates.”

I nod, frowning. “Yes, you’re so right. Just so unfortunate that the software protecting my serial number malfunctioned. I would’ve preferred to meet my Ben the old-fashioned way, but… c’est la vie.”

Snoke smiles at me and I know he knows. Tom is probably right. They took me out.

“The world works in mysterious ways,” he says.

“How are things, anyway?” Ben interjects, trying to change the subject. “Busy?”

They chat for a while about work. I snatch Ben’s glass and drink the rest of his scotch, then get up for another. Come on. Let me ice this fucker. I’ve been cooped up for over a month and I _love _feigning niceties. It used to be my job.

We move out to the dining room and I see Ben has the table set again. He’s managed to cook another meal since coming home absolutely shitfaced and being stabbed twice. Impressive—and bizarre.

But I’ve picked up on Snoke hating me touching Ben, and I’m going to really lock on to it. He must assume I don’t because his eyes narrow whenever I do, like he’s surprised. I’m sure it’s been reported back that I’m not exactly rolling over and spreading my legs.

It’s also obvious that Ben is terribly uncomfortable. He’s close to hiding it but I catch his hands shaking when he brings the food to myself and Snoke and the way he’s avoiding eye contact. Odd seeing him afraid of someone, let alone an ugly old man.

That brings a mix of emotion, and I only want to hate Ben, so I double down on humiliating both of them.

He sits next to me and I slide my hand over his thigh. He startles so hard it rattles the table and he grabs my wrist, but doesn’t push me away. I laugh it off and go back to staring at Snoke. He glares back at me, picking at his chicken.

“So, Ben,” he says, casual, “Hux tells me you’ve have some trouble _conceiving_.”

I shake my head and make obnoxious motions to draw attention back to me. Snoke irately glances my way as Ben reaches over to cut up my food. Whatever. Go for it.

My fingers creep further between his legs. I’m aiming for embarrassment but seem to be hitting a weird voyeurism note instead. Still, it’s annoying the fuck across the table so I’ll take one for the team.

“It’s hard,” I say, drinking wine with one hand, groping Ben’s junk with the other, “it’s hard because the _angle _seems wrong. You know?”

“…I don’t.”

“Oh.” I raise my eyebrows and glance at Ben, who’s doing his best cutting up my chicken and stifling his breaths. He doesn’t look at either of us. “Well, let me explain, because my Ben is helping me.”

I sip, squinting at the chandelier, and make a vague circle with my fork. Where do I begin detailing the lurid sex I’m not having?

“See, when he’s fucking me from _behind_—”

Ben drops my cutlery. He distracts himself with his own plate, so I help myself to some broccoli. His face is as blank as ever but there’s a blush across his cheeks, and he hides a groan in a drink of water.

I keep pretending I’m thinking, gently stroking Ben’s length where it presses through his pants. It’s pretty obvious what I’m doing but too uncomfortable to call it out, so I get the perverse pleasure of watching Snoke chew angrily.

I chew. “When he’s fucking me from behind, it’s like he’s a little too big, you know?” I laugh and wave my fork, rolling my eyes. “I’m sorry to be so candid but this is in your line of work, General. Isn’t it?”

“…Yes,” Snoke replies tightly.

“Right. So…”

Maybe I’m supposed to be more in the back seat, but it’s been a long time since I was at the wheel. I move my hand up to make an obscene gesture but Ben grabs my elbow just before it’s above the table. He tugs and I laugh it off like everything else.

I rip my arm free and carry on. This is the opposite of behaving.

“My vagina,” I say, pausing for effect, “is a little shallow, I think? So Ben has to be seven or so inches erect, then you get the _tilt_—” I slope my hand to demonstrate. “From him fucking me from behind, right? And there’s just nowhere for it to go except my cervix, which…” I sigh and widen my eyes, shaking my head. “Well, that’s not fun.”

“I don’t think the General needs a play-by-play,” Ben says in the most lighthearted tone he can manage.

“Well, _dear_, if we’re to go to a camp, we should be forthcoming with our positions.” I swipe up my wine glass and smile over the rim. “Right, General?”

Snoke shrugs. “That’s a ways off, but I appreciate your candor, Rey. Ben can be very shy.”

That makes me snort. I cough up a little wine, glancing at Ben from the corner of my eye. He shifts in his chair and tries to covertly adjust his pants. Good. Squirm.

“Less shy, more _polite,_” he replies, clipped.

“He is _not _shy when he’s fucking me,” I laugh, tacking it right on at the end of Ben’s sentence. I point to the kitchen. “Out there, in the living room, on the dining room table, couple times in the shower. You can always… watch, General. For pointers.”

Ben chokes. I slap him on the back and swirl my wine, watching a myriad of emotions pass across Snoke’s face. He’s not at all interested in that. His jaw clenches and he glowers, making me wonder why he’s willing to send us to a camp in the first place. Maybe then he has easier access to his victim.

That’s what I’m assuming. He’d only bring Mia to torment Ben and casually discuss his sexual deficiencies to humiliate him. If we’re in some government-mandated breeding camp then there’s no more illusions of civility.

I don’t like Ben. I also don’t like losing. Wonder if I can force Snoke’s hand on the dog, too.

Snoke pats his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t think that will be necessary. My visit is more pleasure than business, anyhow—just to let Ben have some time with Mia before she’s returned to service.”

“Don’t military dogs retire young?” I ask. “Wonder why you have a ten year old—”

“Rey!” Ben snaps. He seizes my gloved hand and gives me an acid glare. “Why don’t you check on the dog, hm? Since you’re so curious.”

Fine. I glare back at him as I polish off my wine and when I stand, I realize I’m pleasantly buzzed. Nice.

It’s a harrowing walk downstairs. I take slow steps to the bottom, where I find Mia in the cage lying on the dog bed. The muzzle is off and she looks calm, but lifts her head in a not so friendly way. I freeze.

Before I can blink, she’s charging at me.

I’m too stunned to do anything except gasp at the sixty pounds of pissed off Belgian malinois coming for my entire face. I stumble back a step and fall over and she leaps on me with her teeth bared, ears pinned back—but she doesn’t bite.

Mia snarls for another moment until she’s sure I’m not going to be stupid enough to argue with her. She sniffs, sniffs, whines, then sniffs some more. Her wet nose ends up in my marked palm covered by the glove. Maybe it smells like him.

She whines again and lays down right on top of me.

I blink, way too terrified to move or push her off. She’s just lying there with her paws on my chest, and her head follows, like she’s trying to keep me from leaving. I’m not about to argue with her and her giant teeth so I lie there and wait for someone to wonder where I disappeared to.

No one wonders for a while. I’m in the quiet darkness with the dog Ben is obsessed with, so I talk.

“…You’re not going to kill me, are you?” I ask.

Mia sighs. It’s that sad dog sigh, whooshing air out of her lungs, like she’s tired. I’ve heard it a couple times from the stray dogs. Resigned. Lonely.

I hesitate, then pat her ribs. She doesn’t react so I scratch a little. Please don’t kill me.

“Well, I feel bad for you,” I mutter. “He must’ve been a fucking terror, huh?” My back hurts from the hard concrete but I resist the urge to move. “Sorry I’m here and you aren’t. I know it’s not fair.”

Like she knows?

Mia stays where she is until the basement door opens. She lifts her head as it closes and barks at the sight of Ben, who has an honest to god real smile.

He whistles. “Come, Mia.”

She jumps up and straight onto him. I get the feeling I was being held captive as I slowly sit up, wincing. Oh well. At least she didn’t kill me.

Ben sits on the stairs and scratches behind her ears, which progresses to him grabbing her around the neck. He drags her into a hug and buries his face in her fur, but Mia doesn’t seem to care. Her tail keeps wagging like crazy and she struggles to get closer.

He exhales, shaky, like he might cry. I try not to stare as she sits between his knees and begins licking him in earnest, sweeping over his face and neck. She puts a paw on his thigh in a way that suggests she’s done this a thousand times before.

Neither of them pays me any attention. I could probably leave forever and Ben would never notice.

“I missed you,” he mumbles. He takes her face in both bigs hands and gives her a rough pet. His eyes are watery. Holy shit. “Not today, Mia. Soon.”

She barks, accusatory. He rolls his eyes. I stare.

“I know, I know.” Ben gazes at her and shifts his jaw. “I’m sorry.” He puts a hand over the top of her head and draws her snout in so he can kiss it. “Behave yourself like you _never _do, and we can go see Jenna at the bakery. She still works there, nine years later.”

Mia whines and paws closer, draping in his lap. He pulls her into another hug that looks borderline painful, takes a shuddering breath, and sobs.

I recoil. What the hell is he doing? He’s not allowed to act so… human, and vulnerable. He’s fucking awful. He stuck a turkey baster inside me—he treats me like an animal then has the audacity to cry over some stupid fucking dog.

It’s confusing and somehow revolting, but I get an even worse emotion flickering in the back of my head. I’m not jealous of a dog.

A knock on the door startles Ben. He lifts his head and Mia obediently licks away the tears streaming down his cheeks but it’s not going to hide that he’s been crying. He grits his teeth, eyes closed, then they open and the mask is right back where it was.

Ben pushes her away roughly enough that she scrambles on the concrete. He strides past her to the cage and whistles.

I watch Mia follow him, tail wagging slower, head bent. He fits the muzzle on her and crouches to kiss the top of her head. He murmurs to her and I don’t think I can watch anymore.

I get to my feet and walk back upstairs, shaken. This doesn’t compute. I’m nauseous.

Snoke is waiting there and smiles when he sees me. I don’t bother smiling back, instead walking up on him in a couple short steps so he’s pushed into the island. He blinks down at me as I poke a finger into his bony chest and narrow my eyes.

“Leave the dog.”

“Excuse me?”

I poke harder, digging my nail in. “Leave. The. Dog.”

Snoke laughs and I know it’s a battle I’m not going to win today. I glare at him as he casually bats my hand away, dusting off his shirt.

“We receive rewards when we obey, Rey,” he chastises. “Ben was disobedient, and is being punished for his disobedience.”

“How so?”

He keeps smiling.

“Your serial number wasn’t always protected, dear—before you were able to afford such a luxury—and Ben is as lonely as he is _shy_.”

The basement door opens. Ben comes out with Mia, stony-faced, and hands the leash off to Snoke. It doesn’t leave me much time to process what Snoke is implying because I follow them to the front door to continue to be a buffer.

He tries to shake Ben’s hand and I casually maneuver between them, edging Snoke out the door. He’s still smirking at me and it’s giving me the creeps.

“Nice meeting you,” I lie. “Bed time for me and Ben—sex and shit.”

I slam the door shut and turn. Ben looks irritated and opens his mouth to say something snotty, but I talk right over him. We have some important things to sort out here. _Important_. I have no time for his shenanigans and chicanery and bullshit.

“Were you looking for me before they forced you to look for me?” I ask, more incredulous than pissed off. I lean against the door, meeting his dark eyes. “Did you find me before I had the SureLine account?”

It’s written all over Ben’s face with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. His jaw shifts from side to side and he flexes his hands, staring back at me without a snarky comment for the first time ever.

Yup. He was, and he did.


	15. Through the dry bush, I don't know where it leads

“You’ve been _stalking _me?!”

Ben has been _stalking _me—how long has been stalking me? Months? Years? Is that why he got in trouble in the first place? Was he not supposed to be looking for his soulmate at all?

He rolls his eyes, turning for the stairs. I scurry after him and ask again: ‘Have you been stalking me?’ which he fails to answer. He strides down the hallway to his bedroom and ignores me right behind him, even though I know I’m extremely annoying.

“You’ve been following me?” I repeat. “When did you find me? Was it a long time ago?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s _entirely _my business if you’ve been following me around.”

Ben works through the buttons of his shirt and shrugs out of it, then pulls off his undershirt by the hem. I stand a couple feet away with my arms folded, tapping my fingers on my biceps. There’s a big, ugly wound where I stabbed him. Good.

My gaze trails down his back when he turns to open the dresser. Some pink scars are etched across his muscles where I dug my nails in, stark in the soft bedroom light, and it makes me shiver. It’s been a minute since our last turkey baster excursion.

I chew my cheek. “So? When did you find me?”

My soulmate shuts the dresser drawer so hard that the entire thing rattles. He unbuckles his belt.

“Eight years ago.”

Eight _years_? I opened the SureLine account when I turned twenty five and at twenty I was still scraping and scrounging for funding to open my business.

Christ. Eight years—that meant he’d known about me for almost a decade and never did anything.

Ben takes off his pants with no hesitation or warning and I quickly shield my face. Maybe I shouldn’t push him on anything else tonight. I mean, he admitted he found me and told me how long ago that was. He has to be anxious from our ‘dinner.’

I nod, turning. “Okay. Well, I need to change, so.”

“They took Mia a year ago,” Ben continues, ignoring me like he always does. “Snoke told me he would return her if I removed you from the picture.”

“…Like, killing me?”

He doesn’t look back at me.

“No. He knew you were my soulmate. He’s known for years, I suspect, and let me labor under the delusion that it was private information. If we bonded, you wouldn’t be an issue for the government anymore.”

“But—But I just make clothes,” I falter.

Ben shrugs as he turns, pulling on sweatpants. His expression is blank and distant. He misses the dog.

“Some things transcend their original intent,” he says. He blinks and shrugs again, smug. “I found your products offensively ugly.”

“_Thanks_.”

Rude, but he’s opening up to me. It’s a fragile state.

Ben tells me to turn and I do so he can take off the dress. He folds it with his own clothes and helps me out of my panties and bra. I wait while he picks through the dresser for my pajamas.

“…Why didn’t you just say something?” I ask in the lull.

It seems to easy; so obvious. _Hi, I’m your soulmate, nice to meet you. _

But twenty year old Rey on a mission to start her own company would’ve been terrified. I would’ve avoided him—and I know Ben wasn’t capable of a relationship, either. He never will be.

So I don’t say anything else when he steers me to the bathroom and sits me down to take the makeup off. I don’t ask why he left dinner and went out drinking last night instead. When Ben snaps, he _snaps_, and he doesn’t like talking about it after.

He sits across from me and wipes off my cheeks, then proceeds to my eyes and lips. I sit in silence and look past him to the door.

Snoke knew who I was and knew Ben had been stalking me, and just let it go to weaponize when the time was right. Now we were both victims. He pitted us against each other in a fight neither of us can win. Maybe he’s hoping we’ll kill each other.

When he’s through, Ben tugs me to my feet by my upper arm and guides me to the shower. I feel like the prisoner I am all over again, even more so when he pushes me in while it’s still cold.

“—_Shit_!” I hiss.

“It’s better for your hair.”

Water douses my head, frigid and miserable, and I can’t shrink away because Ben holds me there. He strips and steps in behind me and my cheeks burn at the brush of his cock near my lower back. Jesus _Christ. _

The door closes, and the water temperature becomes tolerable. I’m rearranged under the spray and my hair is washed the way Ben wants it washed and my body is washed the way he wants it washed. He looms behind me until it comes time to clean my front.

I’m met with blank dark eyes set under soaked hair plastered back; more kicked puppy than psychopath. His gaze sweeps down my body and the way his ears poke out and his jaw clenches—

“You should’ve said something.”

I’m more accusatory than I want to be. Ben meets my eyes for a split second and I have to steel myself. He’s still a beast and a piece of shit. I don’t care if he’s a kicked puppy—this is his fault. He knew who I was, and he was too much of a coward to say anything.

Water patters on the tiles, steam rising around us. I don’t look away. This is _your fault_.

His jaw shifts. He’s chewing on words but he won’t spit them out, just swallow them and take it out on me later. His knuckles turn white on the cloth.

“What was I—?” Ben recoils like he’s shocked he’s speaking. He rolls his lips and huffs, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Shut up and let me finish.”

“I would’ve listened.”

“No you wouldn’t,” he retorts, instantly. He seizes an arm and sets to scrubbing it.

“How do you know? I’m nice. I like dogs.” My lower lip trembles and I shake my head. “We could’ve avoided all of this and been happy. Why didn’t you just say something?”

Ben shoves me into the wall by my upper arm, hard body pressing and pinning me there. He moves to grab my neck but hesitates and slaps his hand against the wall next to my head instead. I stare up at him, trying not to cry and failing miserably.

“What was I supposed to say?” he snaps. His eyebrows raise, imploring. “Hm? You think you would’ve overlooked the other glaring red flags because you’re nice and you like dogs, Rey?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered—”

“Of course it fucking _matters_! The dog, the military, Snoke, the abuse—”

Ben stops, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s about to vomit. I watch his throat bob a couple times as he tries to get a hold of himself.

He withdraws, eyes wide, staring out the shower door. I don’t move a muscle.

A hand runs through his hair and Ben shakes his head. “I knew he would use you against me. I wasn’t sure when, but I knew he would.” He smiles ruefully at the corners of his mouth. “And I went looking for you anyway.”

In the next minute he shuts off the shower and steps out. I wring out my hair and follow, knees shaking.

“Everyone has baggage, Ben.”

“Some more than others.”

“So, what? This is my fault for not being accommodating to your stalking?”

“Assigning blame is fruitless.” He picks a towel and drapes it around my shoulders, avoiding my eyes. “I left you alone as long as I could. You didn’t want to be found, so I respected your wishes.”

I jerk away. “Who says I didn’t want to be found?”

“The SureLine account?” Ben yanks me back and leans in, hand on my upper arm. “I avoided you for almost a decade when I could’ve taken you whenever I pleased. You should be thanking me for the freedom you enjoyed the last eight years.”

“You are _so _right. Thank you for having the decency to limit yourself to stalking.”

He smiles. “You’re so welcome, Miss Niima.”

Ben kisses my forehead and throws the damp towel in the laundry basket. I glare at the back of his head as he turns, broad back glistening wet. He’s such a fucking prick. Fine, I would’ve turned him away. Who could blame me?

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I continue to an unasked question. “You would’ve been just as controlling and fucking insane as you are now.”

“Life is easier when I’m in control of it.” He dries off and steps into his sweatpants. “We were getting along just fine when you were obeying me.”

“No we _weren’t. _You’ve done nothing but play mind games and torment me since you dragged me here!”

Ben shrugs, ambling to the counter for my pajamas. His chest is still bare and I avert my eyes as he approaches with my shirt. Jesus.

“You wouldn’t have done well in the military,” he says. He unbuttons the top and slips my arms inside. “Reducing people to something simpler—making them less willful—is the key to making them into something better.”

“I’m your soulmate and this isn’t basic training. Being _willful _is part of being human—and this isn’t all because you like it better when I obey. Your favorite part is making me squirm.”

He helps me into my panties and shorts and I consider jerking my knee into his nose. That won’t end well.

Ben doesn’t answer my assertion of his sadism. He touches the small of my back to lead me from the bathroom and urges me to the bed. I crawl under the covers as he closes the bedroom door.

Sob story or not, he’s still a sadist, and I know he enjoys exerting dominance and control over me. Kind of negates any sympathy for him that I may have. Kind of. Against all reason, I do still feel bad for him.

Ben joins me in bed. The sheets rustle and he turns his back to me.

Silence falls. I stare at the ceiling for a long time, unable to fall asleep from thinking about what could’ve been. How did I not see a six foot something man following me around? Why didn’t he just say something? Send Mia over?

“Your business disappearing was the crux of the deal.”

I blink. He’s still awake, too.

I don’t answer, though. I know it was. The way my work changed attitudes toward soulmates and helped women protect themselves—it was on a grander scale than I thought.

Ben shifts. “I know how hard you worked for it, but it reduced to choosing you or Mia, and I knew you’d never want me, anyway.” He shrugs, pulling his sheet tighter. “No one has loved me the way she does.”

“She’s a _dog_,” I whisper. “You can’t expect unconditional love from people, especially when you can’t give anything in return.”

But that’s exactly why he loves her so much. She gives and gives and gives, and he gives nothing in return. Nothing deep, anyway. Nothing human.

All Ben has to do is feed her and pet her and take her for walks. He doesn’t have to endure bad days or baggage or arguments about whose turn it is to wash the dishes. There’s no intimacy or vulnerability when the thing you love can’t talk back.

Mia just loves him no matter what. He’s addicted to it, and he’s afraid of anything else.


	16. I don't really care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben in this chapter: 🙂🔪
> 
> also I guess operas/theaters are really common in Europe but they’re pretty rare in America, so most of my memories of opera are outdoor seating listening to the 1812 Overture on July 4th while everybody gets drunk

If things were tense when I first moved in with Ben, they’re at DEFCON 1 over the course of the next week. Nuclear war is imminent.

It’s surprisingly easy to avoid him around the enormous house we share, and I figure out after a day that he’s avoiding me, too. We skirt the looming chaos between us: that I need to get pregnant before we’re thrown into a breeding camp, but I’m not about to let that happen.

Somehow, eventually, it _will _descend into chaos. It’s not like everything will get better. No deus ex machina; no one snapping their fingers to end the dream. Everything will go to shit.

I think I’m biding my time until it all explodes. I read books and use them as weights to regain some of my muscle, and the house is eerily silent like the calm before the storm. I’m just waiting for the end. I’d rather die than be stuck in a forced breeding camp, so I’m going to take my own way out.

Stranger yet, I nurse a bitter sense of rejection over the revelation that Ben know who I was and where I was for _eight years_. I built my entire life on shutting people out and it ended up costing me dearly in the end. I could’ve had the family I always wanted complete with a dog, and I’m fucking furious, but I’m more incensed by fucking Ben.

I’m walking up the stairs alone, one step at a time, slow and agonizing and on the verge of tears. It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon and I think he’s in the gym, leaving me to stew bitterly on my own.

This is his fucking fault. He should’ve said something. I wouldn’t be on the brink of death and he’d still have his stupid dog if he just said something.

Maybe he thinks I’m ugly. I’m _not_, obviously, but maybe he’s into a different type, and that drove him away. Maybe he’s gay. Could be, with how deep denial runs in his blood. That’s easier to accept that my own soulmate actively avoiding me.

“What are you doing?”

I look over my shoulder and see Ben standing at the bottom of the stairs. He has one hand on the banister and the other on his hip, sleeveless shirt baring sweaty skin to me, shorts hiked up to one knee from the foot already planted on a step up.

I glare back. “Exercising.”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

It’s been a couple days since his last accusatory greeting and I’m ready for a fight. I’m still in my pajamas; so what? Not like anyone is coming to see me in prison.

“I didn’t feel like getting dressed,” I snap.

“You _should_. You’re an adult, not a teenager on summer vacation.”

“Well I didn’t fucking feel like it.”

Ben’s jaw clenches. He drums his fingers on the banister in an irritated _tap, tap_, _tap_, then turns and storms off. A door opens and slams shut.

Good. Asshole.

I carry on with my careful exercising until I’m too drained to continue. Upstairs I take a shower on my own, ears straining to hear footsteps over the dull rush of water. Wouldn’t put it past him to bust into the bathroom and shove another turkey baster up my cunt. Fucking prick.

After I’m clean, I wander down to the living room again, ready to take my daily nap. Ben usually putters around in the kitchen and cooks while I sleep.

I’m just laying down when the door to the garage opens and shuts, and Ben strides out. He’s breathing heavy enough that I can see it across the room and rubs his face before turning toward me.

“Did you take a shower?” Real, genuine anger contorts his expression. “Are you _sleeping_?”

This time I don’t respond. I glower, meeting his fury head-on even though the sight of it is shocking. He’s usually much better about controlling himself.

Ben rips open the door and disappears through it again. The resulting slam makes the books quake on the shelves.

Unnerved, a little worried he might stab me, I gather my blanket and go upstairs to nap in his bed instead. Whatever. It’s a small price to pay if it’ll keep him from murdering me, and the last time he was mad about my napping location, I just had to move.

The bedroom is quiet and still and sunlight spills across the new blue comforter Ben put on it two days ago. I’ve been sleeping in my own room and haven’t had a chance to try it out, so… silver linings.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily, though. I stare at the wall for a long time, thinking about what could’ve been and what is.

Could’ve been married, maybe. Had kids by now. My business might’ve never gotten off the ground. Now I have nothing except an insane soulmate and tenuous connection to the outside world I left behind.

The door opens. I blink, heart skipping a beat.

Ben is quiet for a moment. He circles the bed to my side in a meandering stride. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to god he doesn’t reach out and touch me or something like that. He’s probably doing his rounds. Prison guards are supposed to make sure you’re not dead, right?

He just stands there for a long, uncomfortable minute, and I can feel his eyes on me. My heart hammers and I wait on pins and needles for him to do _something_; anything. He’s going to. I know him. He’ll snap at me to get up and get dressed and we’ll sit in the living room and stare into space.

Fingertips alight on my shoulder. They spread and sink so Ben can cup my entire shoulder in the palm of his hand, and he squeezes gently. I grit my teeth.

Then his fingers draw back along with the rest of him, silent except for the rustle of his clothes when he moves. Footsteps shuffle to the door and when I look up, Ben is nowhere to be seen.

———

It takes a long time for me to relax. I lie in bed, unmoving, staring at the closed bedroom door and listening to the distinct sound of cooking happening downstairs. Light fades as night creeps across the cul de sac, slowly suffocating me in darkness.

Why did Ben do that? He didn’t make a comment or insist I get up and dress in something _he _picked out. Is he sick? Has he snapped? I’m assuming it must look strange when a raging psychopath finally snaps.

Too wound up to sleep, I get out of bed and tiptoe my way down the hall to the stairs. He’s cooking for sure: the scent of lemon and chicken and warm vegetables drifts upstairs to where I’m peering down into the glow from the kitchen, afraid to investigate. He has a penchant for knives, after all.

But I guess I can’t avoid him forever.

I take a single step down, hesitate, then turn back to change into real clothes. That should help soften the blow of me sleeping half the day away.

Music follows me to the bedroom. It’s classical, not that I’ve ever been someone who listens to classical music. Some of the notes sound a little foreboding and I keep glancing at the door while I change into jeans and a green blouse, worried Ben is about to bust through the door on cue like a horror movie villain. _Psycho_-style.

I shuffle to the stairs and hesitate once again before slowly making my way down them. I’m fucking starving—I’ve been eating random shit the past few days out of fear Ben will poison me—and I’m hoping he’s willing to share tonight.

The music swells as I peek into the kitchen and see Ben standing over the stovetop. There’s a white towel over his shoulder and his hair is in a loose bun, broad back facing me, steaming rising toward the ceiling. He’s focused on whatever it is he’s doing.

I stare at his dark blue shirt, eyes wandering down to the black belt around his hips. Why does he always insist on getting dressed up to go absolutely nowhere? Is it a military thing?

Ben turns suddenly enough that I jump and almost bolt back upstairs. He seems to sense my trepidation and stops mid-turn, licking something off the tip of his thumb as his dark eyes assess me. He takes in my outfit and raises his eyebrows with a relegated kind of sigh: _good enough_.

“I’m making chicken,” he says. He picks up a knife and stares me dead in the eyes. “Would you like to join me?”

Jesus _Christ. _The way he says it and the implied threat behind holding the knife tickles me, maybe because I’m already so nervous, and I laugh. _Would you like to join me? _Twenty year old Rey would’ve run for the hills if she ever met this guy.

Ben scowls. His jaw clenches. He clearly isn’t picking up on the humor like I am, which is utterly shocking for someone who’s normally so laidback.

“I guess,” I reply, “since you’re pointing a knife at me.”

“…Then don’t.” He turns to the stovetop again and I see tension in his shoulders. “Starve.”

I laugh again, even though I shouldn’t. Ben ignores me and carries on cutting things and being offended.

“I’m kidding, Ben. Jesus.” Shaking my head, I shuffle to the table to have a seat and wait for dinner. “Zero to sixty with you.”

He doesn’t respond after that. At first I figure I’ll bask in the silence and embrace that I don’t need to make idle smalltalk with my kidnapper, but I can _sense _that he’s offended and it’s like a sliver in my thumb. He’s so fucking sensitive. Like a big baby.

I fold my arms over my chest, shivering. “So, what kind of music is this?”

“Jules Massenet.”

“…_Cool. _I thought it was Mozart or something.”

Ben casts me an arctic glare. “Massenet and Mozart sound nothing alike.”

“I think they all sound the same.” I shrug, rubbing my upper arms. Damn it’s cold. “Piano and violin, sometimes creepy chanting. I like that one with the cannons at the end, though.”

“Tchaikovsky,” Ben snaps. “Utterly _pedestrian._”

“Yeah, him. I always like the mainstream stuff, though—must be because I’m not as smart as you.”

His mouth opens and closes. Ben hisses through his teeth before resuming his cooking and I settle into my chair, satisfied. Arrogant prick.

He takes another minute to regain his composure, leaning on the counter while he waits for the chicken to finish cooking. I raise my eyebrows and stare as he crosses his arms and glares at the floor.

Ben drums his fingers on his biceps. “It’s the second act of the opera _Thaïs_.” He drums faster, looking like he really wants to punch something. “We can listen to the Eighteen-Twelve Overture, I _suppose_. Even though Tchaikovsky hated it.”

“Bummer. I used to like going to those outdoor theaters to listen to it on Independence Day—wonder why he hated it?”

“Because it’s _pedestrian_.”

“I don’t know, seems like it was hard to compose, and everyone seemed to love it.” I sigh, widening my eyes. “Of course, I was usually drunk so I may not be remembering things right.”

“You would go to the opera and get drunk?”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

Ben stalks off without another word. He goes into the living room and comes back with a blanket, which he drapes over my shoulders. I mutter a thank you before he returns to his spot near the stove. Arms cross, he glowers at the floor, and music floats around the quiet kitchen.

He scratches his jaw. “Mia and I went to see the Overture once. She didn’t care for the cannons.”

“Well, she’s a dog.”

“No, she isn’t—” Ben pauses. Blinks. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, turning to open the oven. “Set the table. The food is ready.”

I’m not going to risk demanding a ‘please.’ I roll my eyes and delicately avoid him while I find cutlery and cups and plates, and he piles dirty dishes in the sink. Who brings their dog to the opera? Lunatics.

I stand beside Ben with the blanket hanging off my shoulders, watching him pile food on the plates: crispy golden chicken breast, green beans, and rosemary red potatoes. It smells so good that my stomach twists painfully, desperate, and I can’t help staring at the food as he arranges it.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Try again,” I snap, bristling. I’m not his fucking dog.

He turns sharply, looming with a knife clenched in his fist, and I shrink away. I still glare but slink to the table and plop my ass in one of the chairs. Dick.

Ben brings over two plates and a bottle of wine. I wring my hands in my lap while I wait for him to finish pouring into our glasses and hope to god the food isn’t poisoned. He won’t kill me, but I’m sure he’s willing to drug me. It would be easier on him to rape me when I’m passed out, I’m sure.

He sits across from me. “Put a napkin in your lap.”

Fine. I grab one and unfold it as dramatically as I can. Ben sets to cutting up one of the chicken breasts on his plate and pays me no attention.

Quiet settles, save for the scrape of his knife and fork. I glower at him while he works, knowing I’ll be in deep shit if I just start eating without express permission. He’s such an asshole. If I sit here and watch him eat and get nothing I really will kill him.

Ben pops a chunk of chicken in his mouth, chews for a moment, then pushes the plate toward me. I snatch it in a heartbeat and dig in, forgetting to give him mine in my starved hysteria. He heaves an annoyed sigh and leans across the table to take it himself.

It’s good. _So _good. The relief is immediate from the first swallow and I wolf down as much as I can as quickly as I can, worried he’s going to take it away. It could be my last meal for a long time. Who knows?

“Slow _down, _Rey,” he barks, busy cutting up his own food. He points a knife at me. “You’re going to throw up. Slow _down._”

I narrow my eyes and shove another chunk of chicken in my mouth, chewing so my lips smack together. Fuck you.

Ben huffs. “Fine. Throw up.”

“I know my lim—”

My stomach lurches, cutting me off. I blink once before racing from the room to the guest bathroom, where I vomit up the completely undigested chicken and potatoes I swallow not five minutes ago.

It’s pretty vile. I flush the toilet and rinse out my mouth, shuffling back to the kitchen with my tail between my legs. Fine. Maybe I should relax.

Ben glances up and rolls his eyes. He snaps and points at my chair, and I pout _hard _when I sit. He pats his mouth with a napkin, still chewing, and strides to the stove to make me a new plate with less on it.

I glare as he brings his plate to my side and sits beside me. Ben cuts up the chicken into small pieces again and slaps my hand when I reach for one.

“If you throw up again you’re not getting anything else until tomorrow morning when I make breakfast.” He spears a chunk on his fork and offers it to me. “So you’re going to eat slowly, or not at all.”

“How do I know this isn’t the last food I’ll see for a week?” I retort. Still, I take the offering like a baby bird, and try to chew more before I swallow.

“You don’t know.”

And it isn’t like I have any other options.

Ben eats his own dinner and occasionally feeds me a small piece of my own. I manage a couple sips of wine along with the food and don’t vomit, much to my relief. _Technically _I regurgitated.

It’s weird as hell and pretty degrading but at least I’m eating solid food, and no one is shoving kitchen implements inside my body. Ben seems content feeding me, like it scratches whatever itch he has for controlling people, and we manage to make it through the tense dinner without killing each other.

I’m pleasantly full when all is said and done, and too tired to linger on how demeaning it is to be fed like a sick toddler. Ben gathers our plates and brings them to rinse off in the sink.

“I can do that,” I blurt.

“I have a dishwasher.”

“Yeah, but I can still… rinse everything off first.”

He glances at me. A small smile touches the corners of his mouth and it _almost _looks real.

“Go lie down,” he says. His gaze roams down my front, then back to the dishes. “You’re shivering.”

True. Digestion is bringing blood away from my hands and feet to my stomach and I’m freezing cold. It’s better to rest and digest for now, until I get some of my strength back.

I pull the blanket tight around my shoulders as I stand. “Thanks. For dinner.”

“You’re welcome. Breakfast will be tomorrow at six if you’d like to join me.”

“I’ll probably be asleep but if you want me to clean up or anything—”

A plate clinks and shatters. I startle at the sound, heart skipping a beat.

Ben lifts a bloody hand from the soapy water and gazes at it for a minute. His back is facing me so I can’t hazard a guess at what he’s thinking but the shards of blue plate buried in his skin help me out.

I swallow, voice hitching up an octave. “I mean, I can probably get up at six-thirty? And set the table.”

He doesn’t answer. He picks out a few pieces of the plate, dropping them in an ominous pile on the counter: _tap… tap… tap…_

“That’s fine,” he replies, cool and calm. Ben rinses his hand under the spigot and I notice it’s trembling. “I can wait until six-thirty.”

“Okay.” I nod, backing away, afraid to take my eyes off him. “But I’ll see you in bed, right?”

Christ, I hope not. Most nights he’s been avoiding me and I’m hoping this won’t be any different.

But he nods, twisting his hand in the soft overhead light. “I’ll be along soon.” Ben turns a bit and raises his eyebrows, face blank. “You need to take your medicine, Rey. Should I bring it, or would you like to be an adult and administer it yourself?”

_Medicine. _I shake my head and he mimics the motion, unmoving from his spot at the sink, still unmoving when I turn tail and bolt upstairs.

I run into the spare bedroom like the lack of a mattress might save me from the turkey baster. It doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere I can hide from Ben or the inevitability of it: I have to get pregnant one way or another, or we’ll both pay the price.


	17. And the path trails off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to put my dog down last month so this was hard to write

My Ben and I spend a very long time in the Hot Place.

I’m happy to protect him while we’re there, whether it’s big snakes or mean humans or other dogs. The sand and dirt make my eyes burn but I fight through it because I’m the one who has to protect him, and I don’t think anyone else will be able to do it.

Sometimes I sniff out things buried in the sand or scout ahead to make sure things are safe. Sometimes there are loud explosions, and once there is an explosion very close that shoots hard splinters into my legs. Metal. They’re cold, and when we go home, they hurt on cold, rainy days. Ben has them, too.

The Hot Place confuses me but I do my best: I sniff and bark and chase and make sure no one hurts my Ben. We’re never apart, not for one day. I sleep right next to his bed and don’t let anyone come too close. A little growl usually does the trick but I’m not afraid to knock them over and bare my teeth.

Then we go home, and I think my Ben is very sad.

———

Water drips in the eating place—the kitchen—and voices come from the light box. The Hot Place is behind us and I’m in a new home with my Ben, resting near his feet while he plays around on another light box. He clicks. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

A big paw reaches down to pet me. “Want to go for a walk, Mia?”

I jump up, barking, wagging my tail. Ben smiles and checks the light box once more before he gets up and puts on my harness. Our new home is quiet and sunny and I like it a lot, _and _there are no explosions or sand storms or people with guns.

But something is still missing.

We walk out into the nice sunshine, and I stay close beside Ben even though I want to run. I look up at him and see his dark eyes staring blankly ahead, so I give a bark to catch his attention. He blinks and smiles. Something is missing. I don’t think I can fix it.

My Ben is a human but I know humans need other humans. Sarah has been gone for a very long time. I have to find someone new in the park when we play today. Another Sarah—another Felix.

We don’t go to the park, though. Our walk takes us into the busy part of the city, where Ben and I both get nervous, and I press closer to him, unsure. He doesn’t like the loud sounds. Why are we here? What could be so important in this loud place? Does he have work business here? Is it… the Bad Man?

Then my Ben stops outside a store with big glass windows. I sit next to him and look up, and he’s staring inside, searching, and he looks hopeful and nervous. I’ve never seen it before and I look into the shop wondering what he’s so excited about. Lots of humans. I don’t get it.

“Mia.”

He crouches, putting an arm around me, and points inside at a plain human with brown hair. I cock my head. He is smiling but I don’t know why. He rubs his mouth and hugs me tighter, and I gladly press in, sensing a slight tremor in him that might turn into a panic attack. We shouldn’t be here. It isn’t good for him. Why are we here?

“That’s Rey,” Ben whispers. People pass by in a swirl around us. I think he doesn’t notice. “She’s mine. Ours.” He stares at the plain human. “I found her a while ago but I’ve been too chickshit to see what she looks like. What do you think?”

Ours? My tail wags slightly. I like that. I would love to have another human.

I lick Ben and he kisses the top of my head as he stands up. He stares at Rey for another long minute and I bark—go talk to her!

“Can’t,” he says. He smiles at me, rueful, sad. “She’s just a kid.”

That doesn’t make any sense to me. I whine as Ben leads me away and think about our Rey when we reach the park to play. She’s a very average human, but I did like her smile. Not many of them have such friendly smiles.

———

We spend a lot of our time visiting our Rey from then on, though my Ben doesn’t speak to her. He hangs around corners and tells me to sit but she’s mine, too, so I ignore him and watch her. He has to share.

She works a lot and smiles a lot. I want to introduce her to my Ben but I don’t want to scare him or her, and I don’t want another Sarah. Ben is the human. I think he probably knows what’s best.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I broke the fucking law to find her. Isn’t that romantic?”

He paces in the living room, arms folded, shaking his head and complaining. I’m resting on our nice new couch and considering chewing his new leather shoes. I lazily prick my ears so he thinks I’m paying attention, even though I’m a little bored of him constantly talking about our Rey.

Ben chews his nails and I bark. Stop that.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He pauses near the light box (called a television—but I prefer light box). “I should just talk to her. She’s my soulmate so she’ll understand. Right?”

I blink. Yes, you should talk to her so she knows you exist, Ben. Humans aren’t very smart.

He nods along. “I make enough money now to support both of us. She’s filing a loan request with the bank soon—maybe I should say something before. She must be tired from working so much.” Ben groans, covering his face with both hands. “No—I think she _likes _working. I’m sure she doesn’t want this baggage with everything else.” He gestures to himself. Yes, he’s a big burden, but he’s still my responsibility.

I heave a sigh and bark. “Go talk to her! She has a very nice smile!”

But Ben doesn’t speak my language. Sometimes I think he doesn’t speak people language well, either.

He wanders to the window and stares outside for a while, muttering about Rey, and I decide he needs to rest. I jump down from the couch and take his sleeve to lead him to the bedroom, and our new bed. He brought home a soft one and I complained until he got a different one.

My Ben changes and lies down to rest. If I don’t remind him he sometimes doesn’t eat or sleep. He _is _a burden, but I don’t mind, because I love him, and mama always said dogs understand people better than they understand themselves. Some people need us more than others do.

I climb into bed beside my Ben and stick my nose under his chin. He hugs me, and all is quiet for a while. I think I’ll take him for a walk after our nap.

“I want her so much.”

My ears prick. There is subtle trembling—I whimper and squirm closer so Ben can bury his face in my fur. I know. It’s okay.

But he has a panic attack, anyway. He clings to me and I lick him after the way mama would groom me, but I’m confused, because he can just talk to our Rey and everything would be okay. Humans are strange. Sensitive, and complex, and needy.

My Ben is especially fragile. I’m worried that he will be lonely for the rest of his life, being too delicate for a human embrace.

“She won’t want me,” he mumbles, still shaking. His heart is racing. “Why would she?”

He falls asleep. I hope today he doesn’t have any of his nightmares. I hope his arm slivers don’t bother him the way mine bother me.

And I hope he finds the courage to talk to our Rey, because I know how lonely he is, and how desperately he needs another human to be patient with him the way I am. And she has a very nice smile.


	18. And heads down a mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u guys for the kind comments about my puppy 🥰 he was loved and dogs are perfect. ANYWAY DUN DUN DUNNNN

Ben never does come with a turkey baster or another one of his threats, leaving me to sleep alone in the cold darkness. I stare at the ceiling all night deep in thought, and by morning, I know what I have to do to make this all work. To make it okay in the end.

I’m allowed access to the phone now, so I use it before Ben even wakes up. I sit on the couch downstairs, heart racing, worried he might come down and catch me. He’ll give me an attitude—demand to know what it’s about, make a big deal about it. His usual bullshit.

Amilyn is an early riser, thank god, and she picks up on the second ring.

“Rey?” she mumbles. She yawns. “How are you? Are you okay? Lucy said—”

“I need you to do something for me,” I interrupt in a whisper.

“Sure, honey. What is it?”

Another glance toward the stairs. Ben won’t be up for an hour or so and I hope he doesn’t figure out who I’m calling. But he always has his ways.

I chew inside my cheek. I’ll have to pray luck is on my side.

———

By the time Ben comes downstairs fully dressed and ready to cook, I’m already halfway done with breakfast. Most of my energy is just from the sheer adrenaline of my secret phone call with Amilyn but I’m genuinely excited and happier than I have been in weeks. For once, something is working out.

My soulmate hesitates in the kitchen doorway. His dark eyes sweep across my assorted pots and pans (who knew omelets were so messy?) and come to settle on me. I’m not dressed or showered yet. Too stoked. Trying to hide it.

I wave my spatula. “Hi. I was bored.”

Ben casts another suspicious glance around the kitchen before he comes to inspect my work. I’m pretty sure he’s checking for knives but I’m not dumb enough to stab him again. I have bigger and better things in store for him.

He flexes his hands. I wait for the explosion but it never comes: he kisses the top of my head, then turns stiffly for the refrigerator.

“What do you want to drink?” he calls.

“I’m just having coffee. I can remake the pot if it’s too weak for you.”

Phew. Crisis averted.

Ben opens the fridge and stares into it for a full minute while I keep cooking. I sense that he needs a task.

“Can you set the table?” I ask. “Please.”

The slight tension in my stomach fades. He _did _need a task. Nice, Rey—today might be a good day.

He sets the kitchen table and I finish cooking our omelets. It’s nothing fancy but I use a shitload of cheddar to cover up my bad cooking. Can’t go wrong with cheese. I slide them onto our plates and sit across from Ben, stomach churning from excitement. It’s going to be a good day.

We eat in silence. I pick at my omelet and watch Ben’s face to see if he likes it but he’s as inscrutable as ever. Forks scrape, coffee is sipped.

“It’s very good.”

I glance up from my plate. He pats his mouth with his napkin and doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Oh—good,” I reply, nodding. I tap my fork on my plate. “When in doubt, just add cheese.”

“Can’t go wrong that way.”

We lapse into silence again. Ben’s jaw shifts and he clears his throat as he gathers his cutlery on his plate.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Not bad. It’s cold but… I’m used to it. How about you?” I smirk, slipping into my old pastime of teasing him. “Did you miss me?”

His eyes flicker up to meet mine. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look away.

“Yes.”

Oh. Well.

I blink, then I’m blushing, and I quickly gather our dishes to put them through the dishwasher. My palm prickles and I rub it on my hip, unnerved, heart fluttering. What got into him? Is he sick? Did he hit his head or freeze his brain in this miserable cold house?

“I turned on the air conditioning.”

Ben is watching me from his chair. I pause in rinsing my plate and he shrugs, smiling ruefully.

“I do it whenever I want you to sleep with me,” he admits. His eyes roam to the glass door, staring through like he’s studying a memory. “I know how much you hate being cold.”

“From stalking me?” I ask, trying to inject some levity into his confession. I knew it. It’s creepy and sad but I’m oddly flattered. I need help.

He nods, looking at me again, smiling a bit wider. “You always wore a sweatshirt to your first job. No tolerance for air conditioning.” Fingers drum on the table. “I hoped you would come to me sooner or later, even though—if I’m being honest—I don’t mind the idea of force. But I think I’m too weak for it.”

“That doesn’t make you weak.”

“…Maybe,” he acquiesces. He taps two fingers. “But it does make me a fool.”

I’m curious to know how not committing rape makes someone a fool, but I’m not going to risk asking.

I load the dishwasher and finish cleaning up. Ben doesn’t get up when I leave the room, and I consider going back to sleep for a bit. Amilyn said she can resolve my issue today, so I’m just killing time until she comes through. She will. She always does.

“Rey.”

It’s still dark—the sun isn’t quite up—and Ben looks a little ominous hovering behind me in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets, blank expression on his face. His throat bobs and I feel a vague sense of unease. He’s nervous. He’s never nervous. I’m half convinced that he’s pure fucking evil and nothing I do will ever be good enough for him.

“You should rest,” he says. “It’s early.”

I laugh a little. “Oh yeah? Don’t want me to go get dressed and sit silently on the couch?”

“I _do_, but what I want hardly matters to you.” He nods toward the stairs. “Go ahead. I’ll wake you at a more reasonable time.”

“This feels like another test.”

“I suppose it would.”

Hm. Tempting, but I’m too jazzed about Amilyn to lie down.

I click my tongue and glance at the door. “Want to go for a walk?”

“No.” Ben rolls his neck, more anxious than irritated. He closes his eyes. “I would like you to lie down with me. Please.”

Oh. Well… if he’s asking nicely I should probably do it. Positive reinforcement. Even though I’m suspicious that it won’t be an innocent nap—it seems like Ben is turning over a new leaf and at least _trying_. He’s also extremely manipulative and impossible to read, save for the random brushes of emotion I occasionally feel.

Risky, but Amilyn won’t be here for a while. I’m hoping she can sort things out by the end of the day.

“Okay,” I say, terse. “But don’t do anything weird.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Can’t help it—I laugh. I’m angry, obviously, and I should be angry, and hate him much more than I do. But it’s getting more difficult to maintain my anger and keep feeding it, especially when I feel so sorry for him, and me, and the bad set of circumstances that got us in this mess to begin with.

Forgiveness is a long way off, but I think I can tolerate taking a nap with him. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and realize I don’t hate him quite as much as I used to, and I can have my soulmate the way I’m supposed to. Maybe. Maybe I shouldn’t hold out hope.

I point at him as I walk to the stairs. “Seriously. I’ll reach down your throat and pull that omelet right back out again.”

“I don’t think your hand will fit.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

He raises his eyebrows, meandering behind me. “True. And we both know you have the will.”

Sure do. _Unbreakable _will.

We walk upstairs and down the hall to his bedroom. I’m concerned but I guess I don’t have much of a choice either way, what with being trapped in the house, and he still owes me. He’s been better the past week. I have to risk hoping it’s a sign of good things to come and not another trick.

The bed is unmade. I cross my arms when Ben shuts the door and uncross them as he walks around me—then I cross them again. I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life. Well… that’s not true, but this ranks up pretty high.

He doesn’t take off his clothes or change. He pulls back the sheets and steps out of his shoes, glancing at me from under his lashes like he’s nervous. It’s bizarre. He’s losing his mind. Maybe he’ll kill me.

Amilyn will come through. She said she may be able to today but I can wait it out for a couple days at least. I think.

We lie down on our backs, both staring at the ceiling. Silence stretches across the house but neither of us speaks. Yeah, twenty year old Rey would’ve run for the hills if she ever met a man like this. This is the kind of thing a serial killer does.

“I would watch you three days a week.”

I tilt my head. Ben is still staring at the ceiling and doesn’t look at me. He swallows.

“You were oblivious—impressive to not notice a six foot three man stalking you.” He blinks and looks at me and I feel a sharp pang somewhere in my left ribs. “But you were always so focused on your work that it felt wrong to interrupt. So I would sit with Mia and watch, and tell her all the reasons why I couldn’t say anything.”

I shrug, halfhearted. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You probably would’ve scared the shit out of me, and I was so intent on my work that it would’ve felt like a threat.” Blaming him is easier, but…

We go back to tracing the lines in the ceiling. Fine. I wouldn’t have given him the time of day.

Ben heaves a sigh. He closes his eyes and rubs his face, clearly fidgeting, and I feel a stronger pulse of anxiety leaking through whatever block there is between us. I think there’s a torrent waiting behind the dam. It’s going to be a _lot_.

“I’ve never—” He pauses, and the anxiety grows, prickling in my chest. “I haven’t ever—_been _with…” A big hand gesticulates desperately before he clams up.

“_Really_?”

His jaw clenches and he nods once, sharply. Huh. He’s thirty-eight and was never exactly shy with me. He’s violent and aggressive and _oh_, that’s probably learned behavior from Snoke.

I get a weird urge to vomit, stricken with all his nervousness and thinking about what he’s been through, and unsure how I’m supposed to feel about it. Am I supposed to just forgive him? Is that what he thinks is going to happen? He violated me on more than one occasion; it’s not something I’ll forget because he has a sob story.

“I know it doesn’t change anything,” he adds, reading my mind.

“I don’t know what you want me to do with that information.” I sit up and rub my chest, teetering on the brink of a panic attack. “That doesn’t give you the right to… to assault me. It’s not a free pass to be the way you are.”

“I know.” There’s a brief pause. “I’m sorry, Rey.”

Fuck. I suck in deep breaths through my mouth for another second before I grope blindly behind me for his hand, because I know touching the marks will help ease the anxiety. It’s a reflex, like taking a lungful of air after swimming underwater.

Ben sits up next to me and threads our fingers. A shiver passes through me when our marks brush and the nausea and fear ebb away, quickly replaced with the odd drowsy sense of calm. Better. Worse, because I’m being brainwashed by the bond, but it’s better than having a panic attack.

I need space. I can’t do this.

“Don’t go,” Ben mumbles. He can sense my intent to run the fuck away. Maybe he really can read my mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” I shake my head, squeezing his hand like a stress ball. “I’m never going to forgive you. I can’t fix you. I don’t know what you expect but I’m not going to let this… _thing_—” I rip my hand from his and the calm tears away like a scab on a deep wound. “Trick me into feeling sorry for you.”

“Just don’t go. Please.”

Cold crawls up the nape of my neck like a set of spider legs. It yawns open in my stomach, deep and vast and empty, a void that will never be filled no matter how much warmth and love and light I dump into it. It’s alien and terrifying, and it’s coming from my soulmate.

Ben tentatively touches my wrist and I loosen my arms to let him hold my hand again. Soothing warmth radiates through my head and down my spine, and I almost jerk away, afraid he’s going to use it against me like he has before. It’s like being drugged.

But he just rests the side of his head on my shoulder and sighs contentedly. There’s a lull in the turbulent anxiety in him as he exhales and he shifts closer, nuzzling into the crook of my neck like a cat deciding it wants to be pet—but he’s going to have to earn that, soulmate or not.

I swallow, fighting to keep my eyes open. He’s exhausted and it’s weighing on me. That’s why I always get so sleepy when the marks touch.

“You… you better not do anythin’,” I grumble.

Ben grunts. I think he’s just about asleep but I don’t trust the unpredictable bond that wavers in and out as it pleases.

My eyes flutter shut, cheek coming to rest on top of his head. A quick nap won’t hurt. I told Amilyn to just ring the doorbell when she drops by.


	19. Through the dry bush, I don't know where it leads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super short so here u go

On some days, it’s easy to think my Ben has forgotten all about me.

The four cold walls of my cage close in and I feel like I can’t breathe when I think that maybe he’s replaced me with our Rey—so I try not to think those things. I lie down and wait in the darkness, paws stretched out as far as they can go, and I hope he’s happy, and I hope our Rey is happy, too. She has a very nice smile. She is _very _easy to knock over.

I should have stayed on top of her. I knew she would leave and Ben would leave if I let her up.

My eyes roam the dark, musty place I call home now, and I ache. Does Ben know how much I love him? He’s sad. Anxious. Does Rey know that he feels sad and anxious? She smells like him, past the strange perfumes humans use: they have the same unique scent, and I think that might mean my human has found his human.

Maybe he was tired of me. I shouldn’t have let Rey up. Do they know how much I love them? Did I show them enough? Is this my fault?

I close my eyes, shivering, unable to stretch the way I like in my small cage. I miss sleeping in bed with Ben. I hope Rey knows that he has bad dreams, but she doesn’t have to be afraid of him when he screams. He’s harmless—like a puppy. He just needs someone to lick him until he falls back asleep.

Light flashes through the shadows and I hear loud voices. My ears pin back and I growl, expecting the Bad Man has come to punish me or leave my foul-smelling dinner. I have never hated a human, but I hate him. Very much.

Two humans are arguing, and they’re walking toward me. My fur bristles and I snarl, recoiling into my cage. It’s not my Ben or our Rey.

Stay away from me. Stay away from me. _Stay away from me._


	20. I don’t really care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to have a sad ending because it’s really what made sense to me, but after TROS and the hApPy eNdiNgS aRen’T rEaLisTiC bullshit came back around, I decided to give these two lonely sad space babies another fairly happy ending
> 
> I’m going to add an epilogue—smut just had no place in this chapter

Nightmares filter through my bond with Ben.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m witnessing horrible memories; semi-conscious and confused and revolted by the snippets of blood and bombs and searing pain that I don’t have an analogue to. It’s like being plunged into a horror movie from which there is no escape. I’m trapped here with him, reliving every awful minute: shrapnel buried in his forearms and shins that tingles and stings in the cold, ears ringing from a bomb exploding that almost kills Mia, crouching over her bloody body, desperately picking out pieces of metal and trying to stem the bleeding with his bare hands—

_ “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” _

There is a level of fear and anxiety I’ve never felt before, not when I worried I wouldn’t be able to afford rent or food or my loan payment. It strikes right down to the bone and feasts on the marrow and it _hurts _so badly; holy _shit _does it hurt—

Then his mind hurtles in a different direction, to a stuffy old house and a worn couch covered in cat hair; he hates the smell of litter and Lysol and freshly baked cookies. Ben doesn’t like cookies.

Fingertips brush his thigh. He’s wearing shorts after a soccer game. His mom locked him out by accident but his neighbor is happy to babysit for a couple hours until she gets home. He isn’t used to being touched and it turns his stomach but he likes it because at least _someone _is touching him, even if it’s confusing, and wrong, and sometimes he throws up after.

_ “This will be our little secret, dear. Doesn’t it feel nice?”_

My eyes snap open and I sit bolt upright in bed, covering my mouth because I think I might vomit. It’s sunny out and the alarm clock says two in the afternoon. Birds sing.

I glance down at Ben and see he’s still fast asleep. I’m free of the horrible nightmares but I see him twitching a little, mouth moving, and I know he’s still stuck in the one I just escaped. Jesus Christ. Does that happen every time he sleeps? I would never close my eyes again.

“Jesus,” I breathe. I run a trembling hand through my hair. _Jesus_.

I’m tempted to flee the scene, but the way his brow is furrowed makes guilt settle in my gut like a rock. Even when he’s asleep he doesn’t get any peace.

I huff before I lie down beside him once more. Amilyn better hurry up. I don’t have forever.

———

“Rey.”

I’m loading the dishwasher from dinner that night when Ben calls my name from the kitchen doorway. He didn’t come down to eat with me but I wasn’t going to starve. Just made pasta and vegetables. Nothing fancy.

“I made you a plate,” I call, not really paying attention. “It’s in the fridge. I can heat it up.”

“Were you able to see my dreams this afternoon?”

Fuck. I freeze, fully aware that he won’t like me being privy to the horror show he calls ‘dreams.’

But Ben doesn’t look annoyed. He’s standing there, slightly slouched, head tilted and dark eyes distant. His hair is rumpled. He’s probably been pulling at it and pacing like he always does.

I close the dishwasher. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to.”

“Ah.” He nods, gaze sweeping to the glass doors. “I could see yours, too. I wondered if it went both ways.”

“Oh yeah?” I laugh. I start the cycle and try to smile. “Anything good? Did I stab you again?”

“No,” he murmurs. His eyes search for something outside. I’m not sure what. “Nothing like that.”

Cool. That’s good, I guess. He saw my dream and I saw his fucked up _Saving Private Ryan _nightmare and got a taste of Snoke molesting him. Even exchange.

I didn’t need to see it—didn’t want to. I know Ben is more a product of his environment than anything else but I _have _to hold onto my resentment or I’m letting myself and every other imprisoned soulmate down. It’s not that simple. I don’t see bad memories and decide he’s worth loving.

“What did I dream about?”

He’s studying me now, hands in his pockets, apprehensive. Shit. He can’t know that I know everything—he’ll be mortified.

“Sex?” I blurt. I shrug half heartedly and cough. “With… the dog.”

“Oh. Fond memories.”

I blanch. Ben smiles and laughs a little for the first time _ever _and I groan and shake my head, turning away to busy myself with cleaning a dish. Ugh. It’s not funny if it might be true.

He’s quiet for a minute. I’m thinking of ways to escape the awkward situation.

“Wine?” I practically plead over my shoulder. “We should have wine.”

Yes, the old standby: get drunk and forget about it. I assume my request will be ignored but to my surprise, Ben strides across the kitchen into the formal dining room and brings back a bottle of wine. Chardonnay. Not my favorite, but it’ll work.

He pours me a glass and I lean against the sink, sipping at first, then guzzling. It’s dry as hell and I cough and set my glass aside, expecting that’s all I’ll get. Ben picks up the bottle and hesitates before offering it to me from across the island.

I hesitate when I take it. Is it poisoned? Is this a test? If I get drunk is he going to lock me in the basement?

He takes a polite sip of his own wine. I pour another glass and he rolls his eyes and drinks the rest of his, then sets the glass down and motions for the bottle. We should just use sippy straws. It’s the adult thing to do in a situation where you _really _need to get hammered.

“God I hate wine,” Ben sighs, shaking his head.

“I only like moscato.” I sip. “And Zinfandel.”

He nods, grasping his small glass and downing the wine. I’m going to do something I don’t usually do and practice moderation.

“I don’t like classical music, either,” he adds. I raise my eyebrows and he keeps nodding. “My mother made me learn how to play the piano, _which_…” He shows me one of his enormous hands. “I am not at all suited for.”

“Oh my god, that’s just not fair. Child abuse.”

“The amount of fucking Mozart I’ve listened to shouldn’t be legal.”

I snort into my glass and almost spit it on the floor. Ben smiles, maybe the fifth time I’ve seen him actually do it.

“I’m an unholy amalgamation of my mother and Snoke,” he mutters. His smile fades. “With shreds of my father sprinkled in to taste. But what are you going to do, right?”

Well… I don’t know my parents, but we don’t have to get into that right now. I don’t know who I’m an unholy amalgamation of. No one, I guess.

It only takes two glasses of wine before I’m tipsy and hate Ben infinitely less than usual. It takes the same amount for him to start bitching about his parents the way most normal, non-evil people do.

“Leia is extremely controlling. Politics—I always had to dress a certain way and stay quiet and out of sight.” Ben shrugs, glassy dark eyes gazing off into the distance. He sips his wine. “I couldn’t wait to get away from her.”

He’s draped in his chair at the island, slouched over it like he’s at a bar, and I’m still standing at the other side watching him. I drum my nails on my glass.

“What about your dad?” I ask.

“Left when I was young. Always busy raising other children he had more in common with.” Ben waves a hand dismissively and rests his cheek on the counter. “You know the rest.”

“I can’t imagine you being a social butterfly.”

“You _can’t_?” he gasps before laughing, shaking his head at an awkward angle so he doesn’t have to lift it.

I roll my eyes. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of friends, either. And obviously my parents weren’t ever around, though I didn’t have to suffer piano lessons with ridiculous oversized fingers.”

“Don’t make fun of the most traumatizing three years of my life, Rey.”

We laugh. I’ll have to keep him drunk so he’s tolerable, I guess. He’s not so bad with half a bottle of wine coursing through his veins. 

I glance at the stove. It’s past midnight so Amilyn clearly won’t be stopping by tonight. I’m a little drunk, Ben is drunk enough to be fun to talk to, and he _did _mention he’s a thirty-eight year old virgin. It’s been a while since I got laid… and if I don’t want to go to a literal breeding camp…

He lifts his head, smiling in that vague drunk way, much too vulnerable for my liking. Come on. He’s almost forty. He has to have had sex.

“You ever fucked anybody?” I slur, gracefully.

Our inebriation must lower the walls between us even more because I feel a sickly wave of embarrassment come from my soulmate. Ben blinks fast, scoffing, leaning back and stumbling from his chair. His pale face is already pink from the wine but it flares bright red and he huffs.

I hop down from the counter and hold the island for support, gesturing around the kitchen. “Okay—leggo. Don’t look me in the eyes. Don’t cry, either. Y’look like y’might cry.”

“I don’t _cry_.”

And as luck would have it: the doorbell rings.

My heart skips a beat. Ben snaps to attention, stiffening, and shoots me a dirty look. He brushes a hand through his ruffled black hair and fixes his shirt on his walk to answer it. I know who it is.

I follow, wringing my hands. Please tell me she came through. Please. We need a win.

He glares at me over his shoulder. “What was your plan, Rey? To get me drunk and walk out after I fell asleep? Do you really think—”

The door flies open with such force that it almost hits the wall. I jump back and cover my mouth when a big furry body comes bounding inside and knocks Ben flat on his ass, barking, tail wagging so fast it’s like a blur. It’s a little nauseating. Do dog tails usually move that fast? God I’ve become a lightweight.

Amilyn peeks inside and offers me a wave, ignoring Mia slobbering all over Ben. I wave back and she motions to see if I want her to come in, but I wave her off and mouth a ‘thank you.’

“Oh please.” She laughs and waves again. “Tormenting military personnel with long, complicated legal battles is what I do to unwind. Child’s play, truly. I’ll bring by paperwork tomorrow—she sheds like hell and I just got a new sofa. Ciao.”

Amilyn leaves, shutting the door behind her. I smile a little and look down at where Ben is struggling to sit up long enough to pet the dog, but Mia keeps trying to lie on top of him for some reason. Maybe she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets him up.

It might be because I’m drunk, but the cold ache in my stomach doesn’t feel so overwhelming anymore. I think I’ll go lie down and give them some space.

I try to tiptoe around Ben without interrupting. He’s hugging Mia now and her tail is still flying wildly from side to side, but he hasn’t said a word since she came bounding inside. He has his face buried in her neck, breathing in deep enough that I can see his shoulders rising and falling. Lots of drama over a dog.

Upstairs I go. I brush my teeth and gaze at my reflection for a minute, managing a slight smile. I should’ve asked Amilyn to spring me from this place and twist _Ben _into litigation hell, but… I don’t know. I guess I’m getting soft as I head into my thirties. And I’ve always had a soft spot for dogs.

Maybe I’m just enabling him, and now he’ll never get over his issues because he has the dog to lean on again. But I think he doesn’t stand a chance without Mia, and this was the only way I could think of to help him along. Dunno. I’m not a shrink. I just know a very persistent lawyer who owes me a favor.

I treat myself to sleeping in Ben’s bed—alone, like I figured. He probably won’t let go of the dog for a long time. Should’ve brought the—

“When does she have to go back?”

I blink and sit up. Ben is standing in the bedroom doorway with the dog sitting beside him. She’s panting and giving him eyes. It’s a little sick.

I shrug. “Uh… never. Amilyn has it all taken care of.”

“But Snoke will take her back.”

“Doubt it,” I snort. I take the opportunity to fluff up my pillow. “I don’t retain shitty lawyers—I just have to be able to _call them_.”

He looks down at Mia and she wags her tail. She’s a cute dog. I’m glad she’s free of Snoke.

“Why did you do it?” Ben asks, still staring at her like he’s afraid she’ll vanish.

“You’re a fool, I’m a fool...” I pucker my lips. “You didn’t shove a turkey baster up my vagina and didn’t lock me in your basement.”

Even in the darkness I can see some wetness on his cheeks, and I have to physically fight the urge to calm him out on the ‘I don’t cry’ bit from half an hour ago. What a loser. He’s almost a movie caricature, he cries over a dumb dog, and he’s lax with his captive soulmate. Not even worth my time.

“Thank you, Rey,” Ben calls softly.

I clear my throat when it starts to tighten. “I’m going to bed. Have fun making out with your dog.”

Then I lie down and curl up under the covers, determined not to cry like my loser kidnapper. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

Ben clicks his tongue. Mia whines, and he murmurs to her. I hear nails on hardwood and the bedroom door shuts.

I think he crosses the room. My ears strain to listen: theres rustling, like clothes shifting, and his belt clinks. A cool rush of air slithers under the sheets as Ben joins me under them, and my heart patters faster, nervous for a reason entirely different from fear. Anticipation.

But it’s not the right time. I’m not going to be another person who takes advantage of him.

“Ben,” I blurt, just when he touches my hip. “This isn’t a good time. You’ve been drinking—and you just got Mia back.”

He pauses. I know he’s excited about the dog and the alcohol is helping him be bolder but… it’s not right. He should spend time with her and get some rest.

Ben grasps my hip, murmuring in my hair. “But I want you.”

“I know. I just think we should wait.”

Mia isn’t having it, anyway. She whimpers and scratches the door from the hallway, desperate to be let in, and I hate to leave her excluded. It’s hard to get in the mood when a lonely malinois is crying for attention outside the door.

Ben sighs. He kisses my temple.

“You’re right. Mia will be jealous if I don’t fuck her first.”

I groan and throw a pillow at his head when he gets out of bed. He carries it with him to let Mia in, and she promptly flings herself across the bedroom, huffing like she’s annoyed she was locked out to begin with. She jumps up on the bed and lies in the dead center of the mattress, paws crossed.

After Ben lays down she decides I need a very thorough grooming. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to laugh while she licks my face, and I run my fingers through her wiry fur, relieved that she’s okay. Maybe this is a good sign.

Then I feel warm fingertips brush mine—tentative, asking permission. I let Ben thread our fingers and the marks press together on our palms, stretched lazily across Mia’s back. She takes a break from grooming me to drag her tongue along the stubble on Ben’s chin, and I catch him smiling.

I’m not sure where we go from here, but it feels like _something. _It feels like a foundation. I guess the only way is up. Or over. Left. Right.

Ugh. I close my eyes and heave a sigh as Mia returns her attention to licking my face. I’m exhausted and fresh out of metaphors, but I _know _this is the best I’ve felt in months, and I _know _that I’m going to do my best to make this bizarre, demented family work.


	21. I feel this often, go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doneeeeee

“The red doesn’t really match, does it?”

I step back from my art board, pinned with different swatches and fabrics meant to guide me in the right direction for my next piece. It’s not helping. I’m more confused than ever.

Ben tilts his head and Mia tilts her head in turn. His hands are in his suit pockets and I can see the boredom written on his face, but he knows better than to complain. I’m trying to make a damn swimsuit and I’m going to pick the fucking colors _now_.

“It doesn’t match the blue, no,” he acquiesces. Eyebrows raise, and he glances at me. “How much protection does one need while swimming?”

“It’s kind of like a wet suit. Arms and legs are covered.” I shrug, chewing my nails and glaring at the swatches. “It’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Ah. I see.”

Lucy has a better eye for colors than I do but it’s hard for her to come in to the office when she’s busy at home with the new baby: thus, the extremely important decision has fallen to me.

Mia tilts her head again when Ben does in the other direction. She barks, more conversational than complaining, and he nods like he understands her.

I roll my eyes and flip the board the other direction. “Whatever. Let’s just go and I’ll look again tomorrow morning.”

Mia wags her tail while I gather my things and follow her and Ben out of my office. It’s been a couple months since Amilyn brought her home and nowadays she isn’t _ever _left alone—either I bring her to my new office in the morning or Ben brings her on base, clearances permitting.

Her nails click on the hardwood as we walk past my new receptionist, Jessika. She gives a friendly wave and Mia catches a treat she throws before we get on the elevator.

I roll my neck, sighing, closing my eyes. There’s still a lot to do in getting things off the ground again but I don’t mind the hard work. It’s better than lounging around the house like I used to.

“The red is nice.”

I open an eye to look up at Ben. His hair is cut short, just enough to cover his ears, and he isn’t as pale as he used to be. He gazes ahead at the elevator door.

“Doesn’t it look like a tomato?” I ask.

“No, I think it’s a nice splash of color. Black and red would be very… edgy.”

_Edgy_. I snort as the elevator dings open on the ground floor, Mia scrambling out first like the guard dog she is. Ben huffs and pink creeps into his cheeks, so I brush his hand with mine and link our fingers, marks meeting on our palms. He squeezes.

“I’m selling it as a modesty bathing suit, too,” I say, meeting his long strides with loud clicks of my Louboutin’s. “I’m not sure if red would be really popular in that market.”

“Not with the blue, but the black would like nice.” He shrugs and whistles to summon Mia. “But you know these things much better than I do.”

We step out into the sunny Los Angeles afternoon. Ben hands me my sunglasses and puts on his own as we walk down the steps to the sidewalk, where the Mercedes is parked and waiting. Mia politely sits next to the backseat door, panting.

I pause next to the passenger door when Ben opens it for me, turning to kiss him, and he wraps an arm around my waist to draw me in. Traffic beeps and carries on behind us but neither of us cares: it’s easy to forget everything else when I’m kissing him. We don’t very often—not by my choice, but his.

Ben shoves me into the side of the car and pins me against it. He’s hard, pressing insistently against my stomach, lips at my ear. I grab the front of his suit and shiver and hope he might fuck me right here.

“Are you that desperate for compliments?” he murmurs.

“You know how hot and bothered I get when you tell me I’m right.” I slide my hands down his chest to his belt, hooking my fingers over it. “And you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

Ben laughs lightly and shakes his head as he disentangles from me. I grumble and take my spot in the passenger seat and Mia hops in the back, wagging her tail, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Home we go. We’ll make dinner, read for a while, and go to sleep. It’s boring, but I guess it’s better than living in the basement dog cage.

We battle traffic all the way back to our cul-de-sac, the same one with creepy matching houses and weird neighbors. Much of the eeriness is lifted now that I’m allowed outside and working again, but I’m sure people like Poe haven’t changed in the last couple months. It doesn’t happen overnight, and it isn’t always spurred by one person changing their mind.

But Ben changed his mind. Within the first week of Mia coming home, he undid what he could, and gave me space I _desperately _needed. But now I don’t want it anymore—I’m back to craving a family and a home, and as the anger subsides, I’m left wanting someone who still isn’t quite there with me.

He’s wrestling his own demons. I still don’t have the courage to ask how that’s going but based on his improving behavior at home, I’m assuming he’s doing well. Mia has helped a lot.

We park in the driveway and head inside with Mia. She makes a beeline for her dog bed in the living room now filled with trinkets and knickknacks from my old house, leaving Ben and I alone in the foyer.

I clear my throat as I step out of my shoes. “I’m going to take a nap. Long day.”

“I’ll join you.”

Weird. He never naps—still.

I walk upstairs with Ben two steps behind me, excitement pulsing in my stomach. His footfalls are languid and unhurried; it’s ominous and hot for some reason, and I get a brief mental image of him bending me over the arm of our couch and fucking me.

I wouldn’t say I’ve reached forgiveness yet, but I don’t hate him like I used to. I definitely wouldn’t mind fucking him.

Ben shuts the bedroom door and turns the lock once we’re inside, because our dog is smart enough to open doors. Blood pounds in my ears as I meander toward the bed, drawing my fingertips over the new duvet I bought last month. This isn’t going to be romantic or normal in any sense of the word. It’s easier if I pretend I don’t see it coming—I feel like that’s what he needs.

“I’m going in early tomorrow,” I say.

He doesn’t respond. He ambles toward me, as intimidating as ever.

I reach back to unzip my dress and am roughly bent over the side of the bed. A surprised grunt is muffled in the duvet and Ben hikes up my dress over my ass, faster than I thought he would. He’s probably nervous. It’s like picking out a splinter: the quicker he gets it over with, the better.

I’m not mad. I had no expectations of him; no fantasies of tender missionary sex looking into each other’s eyes. I don’t even _like _that shit, anyway.

He presses his crotch against my ass, still hard, cold belt buckle biting at my tailbone. His hand is wrapped around the back of my neck to keep me pinned and the other winds between my legs, long fingers wandering into my panties. He’s heavy as fuck and warm and smells like aftershave.

His middle finger traces along my slit and he murmurs in my ear. “I think I’m going to keep you here tomorrow, dear.”

“I have work to… to do,” I insist, halfhearted and breathless.

“What work is more important than pleasing your husband?” His finger drifts across my clit and I shiver, pushing my ass into his groin, too excited to stay still. He lowers his voice, gently teasing me in small circles. “Should I remind you of your purpose, Rey?”

I manage a nod. He suppresses a weak struggle from me, entirely because I like the way he takes control, and I whimper when he presses down harder on my clit. It’s hard to imagine Ben is a virgin.

He squeezes my neck, whispering. “_You _are going to give me a baby, little one—and you’re going to be a good girl and lie still while I fuck you.”

“No,” I mumble into the duvet.

“_No_?” he echoes. His finger slips down and pushes roughly inside me, drawing a moan. _Fuck_. “But you’re already so wet. I think you like this—I think you want my cock inside you.”

Ben pumps his finger and groans when I whimper again, shivering, arching on my tiptoes. He buries his face in my hair and coos as he adds a second finger, pretending like he’s trying to keep me from whining about it. It’s his favorite part.

Knuckles strain in my panties as he pumps in and out, rhythmic, sometimes remembering to stroke the spot that makes me tighten up. I push back with his fingers and it rubs my clit on the edge of the bed, which doesn’t feel great at first but soon joins the confusing mix of emotion and arousal. I’m supposed to hate him and resist this and it’s even hotter because of it.

Ben lets go of my neck, fumbling with his belt behind me. It’s hard to pick out how he feels through the thick haze of my own arousal but I know he’s on the edge and _finally _going to fuck me like we both want him to. He kisses my shoulder, distracted, withdrawing his fingers from inside me to yank down my panties.

We do still have to have a baby. That hasn’t changed. So it’s not quite as frightening when Ben’s cock prods my entrance, rubbing back and forth, skin on skin. His breathing slows somewhat and he nuzzles further into the crook of my neck. His hand settles on the duvet and I see it trembling.

I ease back on his cock, encouraging him to penetrate me. Seems like a bad time to talk so I try to keep my mouth shut.

Ben shifts on his feet and leans in. He tightens up over me as he eases into my body, breath catching and lilting into a deep groan. His fingers clench the duvet and I brush his hand with my own, prompting him to grab it and pin it. He squeezes.

“—F_uck_—” he gasps. His hand comes away and he’s pushing inside me with his hips. It stretches, not painful but satisfying, that primal sensation of being full and complete. “Rey—Rey—”

I’m restrained by his weight and can’t do much except squirm. Ben kisses the corner of my mouth in a searching, needy kind of way, knuckles white where he’s clenching my hand tight. He hugs me closer like I’m a human stress ball. Weirdly, I don’t feel like I’m the one being pinned.

“Feel good?” I pant. He hasn’t even started really fucking me and I’m already out of breath.

He nods, whimpering. His hips move slow as he sheathes his cock inside me, and he stops for a second, now noticeably quivering and breathing fast and shallow. Our marks can’t match up this way so there isn’t much I can do to comfort him.

Ben jerks his hips, then he’s pounding into me, panting in my hair. His movements are frantic and rushed, skin slapping skin in the quiet bedroom. Maybe I should take a more active role, but I’m satisfied with lying quietly for now, bending to angle better to meet his thrusts. It’s always fast the first time, especially for someone as pent-up and fucked-up as Ben.

But he pulls out suddenly, and I’m being pulled up on the bed, turned on my back. He kneels between my thighs and keeps his face hidden in my neck as he tries pushing inside me again, blindly thrusting. He’s not going to look me in the eyes. If he does, I feel like he’s going to lose his erection completely.

I hesitate, then reach down between us to guide his cock. Ben shudders but doesn’t snap at me like I thought he would, and he plunges into my body, groaning as if it pains him. He kisses my neck and gropes for my hand until our marks press together.

“Better,” he mumbles. His fingers close over my knuckles and he shivers. “Much better.”

It is. I bite his shoulder when I come, warmth rushing down to my toes and the tips of my fingers, the weirdest and most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. It brings Ben over the edge with me and he muffles a grunt into the pillow next to my head, spilling inside me, cock twitching in the spasms as my orgasm ebbs away. His hips press flush against mine and I feel every subtle throb when he comes, and it’s ridiculously hot, and I _ridiculously _hope I get pregnant from it.

I’m fully expecting Ben to flee as soon as he catches his breath. It’s a lot, and he isn’t the type to want to cuddle and talk about his feelings after, so I try to give him an out.

“Good,” I breathe, nodding. I pat his ribs. “Well—anyway—”

But all the arousal is washing away and I can feel relief and shyness and raw, aching vulnerability left behind. Ben kisses my collarbone and the tip of his nose brushes under my jaw.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. He’s still inside me, and shifts his hips to stay that way. “Please.”

“…Okay.” My $200 dress is fucked, anyway.

He sighs, fluttering with more relief, and settles his weight on an arm to languidly kiss me wherever his lips reach. I close my eyes and lean into it.

I could go in a little later tomorrow.


End file.
